Nothing to do with Cooking

Dreaming of a meal,

wrapped in paper and string

waiting for the love and flame

that would come, once a familiar hand

pulls the door open and the light comes on.

Soon sweet smells of onion and olive oil,

butter and lemon dance together, dotting the air

just above the pan.

Diced this and that now enters,

bounding from the board to the steaming range

color and texture form

cream swirls and swoons

making potatoes soft and smooth;

rosemary and basil dot the milky white.

The dream progresses and the sounds of

clanking pans, and thumping, chopping, knives increase;

the hands are becoming frantic, frustrated

and the ingredients keep multiplying

it seems that too much has entered the pan

the potatoes boil over

and the steam becomes thick, black, smoke.

The sauce is breaking.

Swift footsteps approach from behind

and second set of hands dash from spoon to panhandle,

knife to ladle and the flames calm,

the potatoes reduce their froth

and the sauce renders

unscathed

The second pair of hands now come near,

covering the first, interlocking and stroking gently;

like the flames, the panic dies down

and the light turns off.

The dream ends, eyes flutter open

and the two pairs of hands lay between them

still interlocked.

Reviews

[cest la vie]

Nicely done.. great imagary and a twisting ending.
:-)

[Tracie Skarbo]

Beautiful! The ending was perfect. I like the way you tantalize my senses with this one...