he loved her cooking

my mother
could sling a dish from
one side of the room
to the other.
the plate full or empty
made no difference,
although it was more
dramatic with red
sauce and meatballs,
penne pasta.
it usually involved
my father, who continued
eating,
head bent over
his food, buttering
his garlic bread,
while she questioned him about
where he was the night
before, and with who.
he loved her cooking.