No Windows In My Kitchen
A compass on the journey
A cook’s odyssey, in this space, devoid of night or day
Life oblivious to the newness of spring, summer love, fall leaves, the taste of raindrops
This is our secret hive, where time passes in eight hour shifts, cigarettes and thirty minute breaks
We are the worker bees without wings, deep in the belly, where the cut of a knife can sting
There are no windows in my kitchen but I am not alone
A smile is my sunlight, reassuring and warm to touch
Imagine stars in the sky
Wonder what is being kept out, now that we are all swiped in
What don’t they want us to see?
A bus, a car, Starbucks, a leaf still attached to its tree?
No window to see in the mind’s eye, what could be
Imagination, inspiration, perspiration
Look at this plate; it is the window of me
Bursts of vivid color, subtle nuance in play, can you decipher the puzzle in a box?
Ghost in the kitchen, opaque, translucent, disillusionment
At men, women, names in history, my kitchen, our craft, collective creation
No window in this kitchen, but it’s never too late
Cooks in the struggle, to shrug of that apron, that name tag on your chest
To walk in Eden and cook happy and free
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