Poetry

My Kitchen

the world sits in my kitchen.

The earth is the heart of my food.

So I am cutting.

I am cutting into it.

Hard, fast, precise.

Look at how the earth beats inside my pot.

It is boiling like it would in hell.

Fire is in my face.

is that my country?

Is that a village?

Why is there darkness here?

Flip this egg to the other side please

Lower the heat

Put in a little kindness.

Are we out of grace?

Are we out of sugar?

A little heat here, a little chance there

Oh what a bread!

What softness

I am cutting into this earth.

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