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.