It is the end of the day, twelve hours have passed since
I left this morning and I am weary and
I am home.
the light on, its warm glow holds me. I turn on
all the lights —
the warm glow holds me.
I am tired, yes, but for this moment
the body takes over, chopping
garlic (I love the smell, the way
it stays on my fingers long after),
the simmer of oil in the pan, the slow
murmur of music from the speakers,
the way the kitchen slowly starts to warm
from so many warm things —
oven, stove, all the lights.
The warm glow holds me.
I check the fennel in the oven,
take a bite of salty parmesan,
and gradually the worries of the day, the
to-do list still to come, the
sense that the world is spinning too fast too
fast, it all rolls off me.