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dinner at the homesick kitchen table

what if home is something you can taste?

By Dane BHPublished 3 years ago 1 min read
2
dinner at the homesick kitchen table
Photo by Dan Dennis on Unsplash

She says,

"You oughta quit this whole job thing

and go to cooking school. Wouldn't you love

to make a living doing this?"

I've just served her collard greens

I slow cooked in a cast iron pot,

soothed with butter until the leaves

fold like gentle yoga.

She says it's the closest thing to Georgia

she's tasted west of Texas and north

of the Mason-Dixon line.

And I can tell by the way her eyes

slip towards the window

that her memories of home

don't warm her like mine do,

but there's something to be said

for proper collard greens.

I've never cooked in a restaurant.

Never felt my feet grip rubber mats

or said "order up!" in anything but fun.

I've never worked a line or station,

but I've seen the dance they talk about.

My kitchen fits one comfortably,

but two people who know what they're doing

can make dinner prep look like

a game of Mousetrap, or a Rube-Goldberg machine –

every bowl and body part set just in time to receive

the egg yolks, the soaked beans, the cream sauce near to breaking.

The bowls are mismatched and heavy,

and we make do with some broken tools,

but when I serve you something from my kitchen,

I want to know where it takes you when you taste it.

It’s no secret that I sing to my onions.

The nicest man I ever cooked for

swore he could taste melodies in my soup.

I want to cook like it’s homesick medicine.

I could never get my kitchen to smell like my grandma’s,

until one day, someone said her grandma fried her onions

dry before adding the oil. As the slices hit the hot pan,

the scarred kitchen table

and her soft yellow apron

bloomed from my stove like a postcard.

I’m not sure they teach you these things

in cooking school.

So, no. I’m not going to make a living

of these acts of soup and birthday cake

any more than I’ll make a living doing poems

on a stage. I’ll keep my kitchen built for one.

But you can come over any time

and I’ll offer you a bite.

performance poetry
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About the Creator

Dane BH

By day, I'm a cog in the nonprofit machine, and poet. By night, I'm a creature of the internet. My soul is a grumpy cat who'd rather be sleeping.

Top Story count: 17

www.danepoetry.com

Check out my Vocal Spotlight and my Vocal Podcast!

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