Dinner at 7

Dinner at 7

A Chapter by kelsi :)

This is love.
The chicken that my hands
clean and carve to serve,
along with a vegetable the color of
steamed broccoli and nothing more than that.
It’s the sliced onion bringing tears,
and carrots,
making eyes much stronger,
so they can cry at more onions.
It’s paper plates, ceramic plates,
any type of plate you have, really.
Except for tectonic;
Those aren't safe.

It’s oven heat,
and red velvet cake that doesn’t turn out
the way you want it to.
It's the scent of cinnamon,
though you don't quite know where it's coming from,
since cinnamon wasn't an ingredient.
It's the way water boils
when pasta is being cooked,
and the low hum of a refrigerator.

Love is the tone of an oven alarm;
whatever note it may be.
A flat? G sharp?
It's the same.


© 2019 kelsi :)


Author's Note

kelsi :)
Yeah, I wrote about food.

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Added on September 20, 2019
Last Updated on September 27, 2019
Tags: food, poetry, love


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kelsi :)
kelsi :)

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