I'm your sous chef ―
but
it's you who are cunning,
squeezing
seeds from tomatoes
casually
in the palm of your hand.
We
reflect in the night window
like
two aproned ghosts.
It's
a changed world here,
free
from any feeling
apart
from belonging.
I
lean back and sip wine,
watch
you do your splendid thing,
flee
all responsibility.
Patient
with a slow simmer,
you
dare to touch fleshy lasagna
with
gentle expertise.
Everything
fades to steam.
Is
it coincidence we wind up
in
the same kitchen?
tk/March 2013
Thanks to the talented R.A.D. Stainforth for reading this poem. More of his readings of my poetry can be found HERE.
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| Between Heaven and Hell, 1989 by Jacek Yerka |
