for dinner

the sweetness
of getting to decide
every night
what to eat, where,
and with whom
has merged
with a nostalgia
for coming home
to a pot of rice,
and plates of entrees
(always at least one soup),
and everyone reaching in
with their own fork or spoon.

i wonder whether
what it is like
to come home,
make a pot of rice,
a stirfry, a curry,
and call loved ones
to the table,
knowing that they will eat

that certainty
of evenings
is as foreign now
as meatloaf.

11246775_1593048717639840_2123024440_n

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s