Kitchen Poem

The striated flesh of a bisected potato

The fistfuls of spinach thrown in a hot pan

Hot steam flashing up like a magician’s trick

When I am elbows-deep in a mound of dough

Creating stealthy well-being under the guise of cookies

That’s when I am most me.

 

Teeth gritted in a determined smile

Whirlwinding across the linoleum timing pot to pan

Snapping at anyone who dares cross the invisible line into my domain

That’s when I am happiest.

 

And when it’s over and I am sitting at my own meal

Plate neatly piled with veg and starch and meat and bread

I’m actually disappointed that I have to eat this now and the fun part’s over

Where I am the witch who wields the ladle.