Trimming, Braiding, Tossing, Boiling

I’m thinking of the razor trimming off long spirals of pasta dough destined for the trough,
Trying to knead sentences with my whole weight,
Wondering where mine went,
Wondering who could be fed if the cast-offs met a boiling cauldron instead,
Wondering how to get them there,
Wondering how long a person’s dignity can survive on scraps,
Wondering if there’s basil in the garden enough for pesto.