Donning an apron
and burns on my knuckles
like wounds of the ancestors, progressed;
due to be scars through the ages.
Steam erupting from the oven
as food is removed from it’s warm coven.
The volcanic scent of nurturance
acts as evasively alluring as a coy cat;
and leaves it’s lingering scent on my clothes
as if someone used thread woven from the smells in my kitchen
to sew my wardrobe together.
Taste buds challenged
to the edge of their symbolic seats.
Completely, with enormous perception of personality
pushing my nose into plates of warmed food.
Sniffing back blackpepper and full-bodied salts.
chilies, and freshly ground turmeric make my eyes water with joy
at the offerings of the plant and mineral world.
Forks clink, and plates clatter quaintly
upon the soap-washed wooden table,
baring little more than gently sanded scratches
and the look of many years of joyful union around it.
Served by the bounty, this feast fit for no other than all beings.
Exclusions? There are none.
For we are consuming no bodies,
and inducing congenial festivities in the warmth of this meal.
Joining together in sweet communion
whipped like coconut cream into what will soon be the kindest nostalgia,
we bless the beings around us.
We adorn ourselves not with furs,
nor feathers or pelts;
but with our hearts on our sleeves.
We wear a smile on our face as each bite passes the ultimate:
time-tested kindness, for we are consuming it.
We are consuming kindness.