The Good Cook

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For my grandmother on her birthday. Rest in peace, Laverne. 


The Good Cook


Of course, she starts out being a bad one. 

Consider her hands, clumsy with her tools,

The way she’d take liberties with the recipe 

not afforded to her, yet. That art is an expertise that

has to be earned. 


What keeps her going? 


Is it a kind word from those

with whom she dines? A subtle

forgiveness licked off every

cleaned plate? Or criticism 

hellbent on instructing? Cold

food and glowering stubbornness

judging what’s edible, what’s not?


Let’s hope it’s the hum 

of Texture, her sister Smell, 

their devilish cousin, Chemistry.

That everyday these three goddesses 

champion song in Chef’s heart, while she 

pumps out yet another 

dish. 

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