My Mothers Kitchen

My mother’s kitchen:

I watch eyes wide as she stands over the oven

Mixing and pouring ingredient with an unreadable name

Her hands constantly running over her forehead clearing any trace of work

The intoxicating smells found its way beneath my nose giving me a sent I only crave more of

But I don’t dare to take a step forward

Afraid of interfering her routine

So I stand and watch

Pots boil

The oven rumbles

Microwave beeps fill the room

As my mother fights with the oven to work faster

I shifted my position not being able to hear her voice in such a tone

Salt rolled off her fingertips as her hand was raised high over the pot

Careful cuts are made on the green and vegetables

A big kitchen knife in my mother’s small hands seemed alien like

She cooks and cooks much more food than needed

And in the end I’ll be right about only one thing,

There is going to be more food left over then eaten.