The Poetry Chef


The Poetry Chef

As she reaches for the flour
O’er tops of tussled-haired-babes
Her epicurean love-power
Spreads aromas throughout the room

She stoops to grab pans
Battered beaten and worn
Moving her food covered hands
To the angel kicking in her womb

Sprinkling her spices about generous
Hearing distant laughter familiar
She seeks out her little one precocious
To make sure dinner and calm can resume

She risks the scars of oven burning heat
While avoiding wagging dog tails
Baking heartfelt loving vittles
For her hungry family to consume

She expresses her poetry daily
Through her fingers, cooking, and care
Hugging with seen and unseen gravy
Ensuring the best of us will bloom


Ode to Nina!

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