Food Made With Love, At Home

My arms are placed on both arms of my chair

I bop up and down on the plastic cushion

In front of me is an empty space

I can’t bear the anticipation

A cup, a spoon, a paper napkin purposefully placed

Boundaries set for what’s to come

An arm comes flying over my shoulder

“It’s hot!”

A steaming bowl lands right in front of me

Beans, greens and sauce of perfection

Synchronously swimming with Ziti pasta

It’s sometimes white sauce,

but in my house it’s almost always red

Silver steam rises off my bowl,

 even on a warm spring day

I put my face close to my piping bowl

My nose opens

In dances the heavenly aromas

I can feel the water clinging to my skin

Like the warm embrace

The parmesan is passed around the table

Before anyone dares to eat

From thy gifts which we are about to receive

Then begins the race

One spoonful followed by another,

to the bottom of the bowl

Asking for seconds is expected

Food made with love,

at home

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