Cooking with Rachel (a poem)

For Rachel Forth

The summer days are long and there’s still light outside

when we roll the dough and dance in the kitchen while

making stromboli – you lead the way, but teach me too –

you make it like it’s second-nature to you, a true cook,

and I’m your student – all I can make is scrambled eggs.

I’m a sheltered and spoiled suburban boy, but you don’t

chide me for that – instead, you guide me, as we

listen to Sinatra and I make silly faces and act

like a teenager.

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