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The butter melts onto the hot iron pan, sizzling and popping like a firework.
Each motion is a release, a kind of 'lacher prise,' as the French would say.
My heart warms with the love infused into every spice.
Just one carefully measured dash and the dish is just right.
In a kind of enchantment, I practice the art of cooking, laying my heart bare onto the heated metal.
I move swiftly and gently, letting the days worries settle.
I twirl and sway in the act of creation; little compares to the moment of elation.
My spirit hums softly, keeping me in good spirits and laughter as the light gradually dims in my kitchen and the day quietly slips away.
Here in my element, nothing seems to stand in my way.
Thoughts begin to pour forth effortlessly as each dish is polished and stored with care.
Here in the quiet and peaceful moment, I can hope, I can dare.
A touch of kitchen magic has gently enveloped my mind in bliss.
Embracing the elements to set my mind free, grounding me while releasing the tension, allowing me to simply--be.

-Rhia Clay
Steel pan in roadside dirt,
just beyond Exit 11: Quartzsite,
sun bouncing off like a flare.

Handle loose, rim dented,
but not ruined;
still whole enough.

It felt like one I swung
at Tomaso’s,
sweating
through the rush,
that night
we plated sixty covers
in under an hour.

Me, this pan,
were used
the way hard things are:
oiled, scrubbed,
flame-kissed and blackened.
Something thick stuck once,
then let go.

I lifted it,
right hand curved
around the handle
as though it never left.
Some things remember you
even when you forget yourself.

I set it in the backseat,
beside the blanket and bag.
thought I’d clean it up,
tighten the handle,
set it on flame,
hang it by a stove again.

I don’t believe in ghosts,
but I believe in steel,
in things that hold the heat
and give it back to you.
Kernel of this poem resurfaced from 2004. Driving the 10 freeway from LA to PHX.
Damocles Jun 9
But Gordon,
ODB told me to like it raw
So if I bite into a chicken thigh
And realize the rubber texture
Is because I didn’t deep fry
Am I just a donut to you?
Glazed and sprinkled or fruit looped?
This was just something quick that came to me reminiscing about kitchen nightmares
An electric connection,
Between my mind,
And my fingers.

I moved to wash my hands,
As the water froze fresh from the faucet,
My hands began to spark and fry.

Now I have frost burn,
In my electric skin,
From washing my hands in Michael's kitchen.

Now I'm wishing,
I never needed to make solid soup,
I could've stayed wet,
Contrary enough for my body's technology.
Inspired by the music of MF Doom, a recounting of when I made soup in Michael's kitchen. Wicked dream.
Nigdaw Dec 2024
Alexa
Enya
oven
rain
tumble drier
cats
washing machine
hsn Dec 2024
kitchen counter riddled in grey marble
a fragrance of burning wood and candy
solar blessings filtered into linear lines
fruits spread in an ikebana rainbow
a jar of sickly saccharine sugar atop
a syrupy taste lingers in that air

i long to breathe it in once more
that sweet air of my grandma's
house from all these 11,285
kilometres away from home
and ten years from those
first moments of life
George Krokos Oct 2023
The stylish kitchen
was where the chicken
had to be prepared
and couldn't be spared
by the good old chef
who was known as Jeff
on that fateful day
with the baking tray
placed in the oven
heated to govern
the cooking of which
was a dinner pitch
for that very night
with the stars so bright
in the sky above
everyone would love
who were invited
and be delighted
on that occasion
without persuasion
to share in some feast
not saying the least
that could've been said
if it was just bread
with a bowl of stew
for some hungry crew.

And so it happened
they were all fattened
by the food they ate
as they supped 'till late
and when the time came
the guests couldn't blame
the chef or the host
for the chicken roast
and the side dishes
which pleased the wishes
of all the guests there
who enjoyed the fare
with many a thanks
without any blanks
and there it ended
the night presented.

All the guests who came
did not leave the same
because of the food
eaten that was good.
-------------------
Written in May,2022.
Indulging in a bit of creative flair rather than any actual dinner occasion although it does make me hungry about what I might have missed out on..
Safana Dec 2021
Be always be...
Someone with a
childish tongue
pronouncing light-
Blue diamond words
With courage and zeal
In the daylight
and the night
In the sunshine
and night shade
No matter how much
Hard the bone
is to break
kenz Sep 2021
Her cracked old hands from years of work
Chop away at these vegetables for a delicious soup
On the granite counter tops
The cream colored kitchen turning as safe as her warm hugs
Into this safe haven, an escape from boredom
“I'm gonna miss this”
“What do you mean it's almost done”
-kenzie<3
I love creative writing.
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