Cooking in Progress
There’s something about food
That puts me in a good mood
The washing purifies me too
The chopping takes away blues, for it requires mind.
The violence dissipates my frustration.
Hence when I make the oil sizzle in the wet
It is easy to make the veggies sweat.
Stirring rhythmically, seeing my creation form
The uncertainty of it. Will the spices storm?
Patience in spades is needed. The clock helps not
Only my gut, for when the veggies are done in the pot.
Somehow the eating is all the sweeter then
To feed myself and another, to know when
We stop, tomorrow too I will cook
And it doesn’t happen by the book.