No Windows In My Kitchen

There are no windows in my kitchen, instead passion lights the spark 

A compass on the journey

It burns in fluorescence, ambition so bright; we are scarred by its touch

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

Stainless steel instead of earth, it’s everywhere we look but up

 Imagine stars in the sky

 Wonder what is being kept out, now that we are all swiped in

Water goblet reflections, distorted in this unnatural light

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

 Now look through this glass, magnified to the power of ten

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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