A Poem For Ari (Pt 1/4)

We always meet in the kitchen/
Discussing new becomings as we tie each others aprons…
Reaching the places we could do so by ourselves/
And never smart enough to do so before hand-
We gather supplies/

Your body language always differs from the previous/
Never the one to dance to melodies…
Of wooden spoon against bowl-
You reflect on the last disaster you called a recipe/
How the ingredients didn’t sound right…
But you still continued to bake/
…Scrape pots filled with blacks stains known as cake…
But who could tell now?:
I helped/

Smile embroidered on face due to the fact that…
Those considered as good cooks make the best of their mistakes…
And the same could be said for those who believe they’re good/
But I was a born natural…
And even though I cracked from the egg of a man…
Who couldn’t bake one cake at a time-
I was different/
Took my time to sift…the flour/
Shape frosting around curves Father was too fast to notice:
I shined/