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.