gently, as if it could be a last
meal.
i'm kind to the carrots,
the potatoes,
all sliced
with good intention.
the onions go in,
the meat,
i lower the flame
and let it cook.
tasting it with a large
spoon,
adding salt,
adding pepper,
inhaling the memory
of such a meal,
my mother at the stove
and me
a hungry child coming
home.
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