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.

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What Heaven Looks Like (a poem)

You forget there are places like this:

A quiet bay with still water and a wide expanse,

the sun shining in a cloudless blue sky, and

seagulls calling overhead.

From the sandy shore, you watch the old man

cast a fishing net and the teenagers lounging

with headphones on.

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