Those of you who know me know that I love to cook. It’s another creative outlet—a way to focus on the process of making. This love developed late, but it has come on strong in the past six or seven years. I wouldn’t admit to being a foodie by any means, and I’m certainly not a chef, but I do feel like a poet in the kitchen.

I take the striking pieces of the world—onions, garlic, olive oil, spinach and spices—things that call to be used, and I work them over, as in a poem, hoping the right words in the right order will knock someone over. I hope my poems, like the memory of a good meal will stay with a person.

I cook and write with intention, but I also search the cupboards and imagine the possible meal. I always improvise.

One of my favorite things is the reinvention of leftovers. Sure, they can been good cold or merely reheated, but leftovers seem a chance to take well-cooked food and make it new.

Two nights ago I made sweet potato and butternut squash soup. I roast the potatoes and squash and add them to the soup late, which I don’t puree. I like to mash it a bit, but leave the vegetables chunky to emphasize the heartiness of the meal. Soup next to the fireplace assures one that fall is indeed good.

Last night we had soup enough for two, but four mouths to feed. I drained a bit of the “broth,” added cottage cheese, parmesan, salt and a good deal of pepper and mixed it all together. Then I put a teaspoon of the sweet potato/squash mix in about 50 wonton wrappers and sealed them like ravioli. They boil for about two minutes, then cook in a little browned butter and, voilà, delicious homemade sweet-potato-butternut-squash pasta is served.

The thing is, like a poem’s revision, the second meal is often better than the first.