The Chinese silverware of my grandparents illuminate the amber light
I contemplate on the past as I force out the ice-cubes from the trays... plop plop.
As I wield my silver spatula and tossed it into the air
The flowy grace of my apron stitched my mother
The cabinets which are like file-folders with organized pots and clangs
Flames are engulfed by the wind as the screen door remains open still
Teapot marching through the cabinets in a parallel fashion with the wine glasses
Sifting and slicing, blending and beating, tossing, and turning.
And dang! The burning butter's scent turns the air into an unbearable aroma
inspired by:
When I Am in the KitchenJeanne Marie Beaumont
