This is one of the poems about which I've received the highest compliments. I think

many of us can relate to it in our own unique contexts.


I walked from the kitchen

Slowly stopped and turned around

The gentle bubble of pots on the stove

Sounded warm and beautiful

Inviting, so I went back in

Watching the lid dance over my soup

I noticed the dry, hot smell

Of cumin drowning in the sweet

Black juice of the beans

I felt the smile on my face

And wondered how many times

My granddad stood smiling in his kitchen

With the cornbread beginning to brown

© Gayle Force Press 2003

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