Poem: My Father, the Chef

I miss my dad's cooking
the smell of food
wafting from the kitchen
roasts, barbeque, soups
flaky buttery pastries
although he can't eat them
because of the sugar
it doesn't stop him
from being hospitable
to everyone he knows.


"Are you hungry?"
He will drop everything
to cook you a meal.
He braved going to the store
in a snowstorm
to get ice cream
during a craving.
Experimenting with recipes
and asking me
to taste test them.

The only reason to go home again
but it's a good one.
To see him truly happy
in the kitchen
entertaining, taking care
of the ones who walk through his door.
It kills me to know
this doesn't happen as often
as it should.