I'm re-posting this poem because my grandfather gave me a load of vegetables from his garden and I plan to start cooking with them today. "Kitchen" seems appropriate to share.

FDO

 

 

 

Kitchen

 

 

 

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 2004

• Poetry