always with me

memories of my mother in the kitchen.

chopping for hours, just the two of us

garbage in the sink, bottle cap here, soy sauce there

a dash of salt, a pinch of pepper, six shakes of chilis

five dishes at once

the scrape of the wok

a lone green bean tossed aside

pungent ginger stings and my nose sniffles

scattered senses explode in glory

the steam from her wok, escapes

simple pleasures here on earth

her body can’t cook anymore, so she paints her tiny strokes

…tears from the ginger, or the memory

 

6 thoughts on “always with me

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