How I live is the way I cook,
one bowl on this counter for a cake—
flour, sugar, eggs and chocolate,
always chocolate for spirits;
on a stove a stew simmers
for freezer placement, just in case
my newest project rips the cooking
desire from under me. In a blender,
my mother-in-law’s mixture of oil, vinegar,
and mustard for an irresistible dressing
drizzled upon wilted frig leaves
which no one noticed but me. I run
to my store for a new head of lettuce
and a magazine and then dash back
into my room beside this kitchen to do
what makes me happiest – write –
one day a poem, next day
a story, an essay.
My life’s blessings in my sacred and risky spaces.
