No Warmth In the Kitchen
Loose are the oven mitts that covered Mama's hands.
Cold are her rustic pots and pans.
Stained are the pages of her favorite cookbook.
Lull hangs her ladle on its metal hook.
Hiding on the ceiling is the once dancing steam
of beef stroganoff's sour cream.
Silent is the spatula that served family guests.
Quietly the food processor rests.
Daddy can only cook up a sweat,
and I'm too young to read a recipe yet.
There's no warmth in the kitchen since Mama's decease.
These objects are resting, but not in grease.
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