i ask
as she stands in the kitchen,
her hands
in a bowl,
the oven on,
the counter full of fruits
and vegetables
i've never
seen before.
cuts of beef, and chicken,
pork
are on the cutting
board,
shrimp
and fish,
the fridge is open,
throwing a ray
of cold light onto
the butter, the flour,
the sugar
and spices while
the food
processor spins
frenetically,
and she has music on.
what's cooking?
i ask again,
to which she winks at me,
and says
everything, nearly
everything.
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