Garlic

My mothers’ kitchen smells like garlic
Opening drawers would ward off
The Count himself.

My mothers’ kitchen is a bit of
a mess.
She is the only person who knows
Where Everything is.

My mothers’ kitchen is full of the best
Pots and pans and knives.
And a melted, handle-less spatula
From her college days.

My mothers’ kitchen is the site of
magic
The wizardry of turning plain ingredients
Into the best food in the world.

My mothers’ kitchen is where
She can be found in sweltering heat
Or freezing cold
Experimenting with a new (healthy) meal.

My mothers’ kitchen is where
I learned
To throw things in the pan
to spill the flour
to melt the cookies
to mix up salt and sugar
to stain the cookbook pages
to taste my cooking
to try again and again and again

My mothers’ kitchen is where
I learned to cook
Where I learned to use garlic.

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