Monthly Archives: February 2014

Sous-Chef

My mother always said
you shouldn’t cook when you’re upset —
whatever energy you feel when you’re cooking
goes into the food.
You should cook when you feel happy
or calm or loving
so that the people you cook for
feel happy, calm, loved.
And the food tastes better that way.
Easy enough —
I always felt
there was something cathartic
about making a cohesive creation
from scattered pieces.

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Road Trip

I usually hate to drive.
I have this continual fear
that I might end up so lost,
I’ll never find my way
to where I wanted to be.
I’d rather someone else
bear the burden
of reaching the destination.
The driver maps the course.
The driver chooses the journey.
The driver must, at some point, park.
And I’ve been in the driver’s seat
for a very long stretch of highway.
So let me be the passenger.
Let me stare out the window without a care.
Let me notice the things I’ve never had the freedom
to see before.
Let me watch everything but the road.
Let me relinquish control –
for once, I’m willing.
Drive me.

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Sorry, Cupid

I don’t believe that New Year’s Eve
sets the tone for the whole year.
It seems strange to assign
such cosmic power
to a single evening
and pretend I’ve no responsibility
in the outcome.
And I never understood
why I must give
a random day in winter
the power to determine
the warmth of my affections.
I do not tell a spark,
“Wait until someone is watching
to start the fire.”
I simply let it catch.

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Blind

“I love that it makes a rainbow,”
I said, looking at (but still avoiding)
the oil slick from whatever car
had since vanished.
At certain angles, the dirty black
swirled and changed
and made some small beauty
that I never could ignore.
You looked back, shrugged, and said,
“It’s just oil.”
I tried to explain what I was seeing —
a dirty rainbow, yes, but
a rainbow nonetheless.
You looked at me, shrugged, and said,
“It’s just oil.”

I should have known then.

So when I saw stars
on the side of the road this morning —
when their light twinkled subtly
and brightened my morning commute —
I remembered the rainbow oil,
and in my head, I heard your voice say,
“It’s just glass.”

“Who cares?” I thought (smiling).
“At least
I can see it.”

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