Cooking for the Queen

Poetry, Uncategorized

In the kitchen I am always cooking for the queen
She will notice the singe in my butter
She will see the specks of herb among the tomato
And think the beans over cooked –

But she will not know the way the rosemary prickled my palms or the
Sting of that slipped knife under my skin –
The tang of that old
Memory that hovered in the steam
As I stirred
And stirred
My secret smile

I will watch carefully now each of the corners
Of her


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