Potato Soup

I set up my computer and webcam in the kitchen

so I can ask my mother’s and aunt’s advice

as I cook soup for the first time alone.

My mother is in Utah. My aunt is in Hungary.

I show the onions to my mother with the webcam.

“Cut them smaller,” she advises.

“You only need a taste.”

I chop potatoes as the onions fry in my pan.

When I say I have no paprika to add to the broth,

they argue whether it can be called potato soup.

My mother says it will be white potato soup,

my aunt says potato soup must be red.

When I add sliced peppers, I ask many times

if I should put the water in now,

but they both say to wait until I add the potatoes.

I add Polish sausage because I can’t find Hungarian,

and I cook it so long the potatoes fall apart.

“You’ve made stew,” my mother says

when I hold up the whole pot to the camera.

They laugh and say I must get married soon.

I turn off the computer and eat alone.