Daring Self-Love, I Risked Learning to Cook

When I first suspected this might be the case I stopped,

hardly able to taste the word I'd prayed for all my life.

I imagine floating, whole and golden, in mid-air, sound

surrounded by what contented angels sound like, sighing.

Music becomes food through a series of simple magicks

Having exchanged smudged forests for individual trees

that exist, I started to see possibilities I had missed,

(so obvious, this): just start with premium ingredients;

know how to allow them become their own eloquence.

Cooking is like Comedy, like la vie; timing is everything.

There is power in small details that gets lost in the dreary 

catch-basins of generalities: it is all the same, does it matter?,

hide everything under garnish... all these words want to do

is weigh-down, and take all the fun out of cooking for one.

I am not the magic, but I can know how heat conducts.

Try to learn the real names of the people who bring the food,

their families and their farms; savor the names of vegetables;

how flavors are layered; the best sources for everything;

and how the turning of the year sets different dinner tables;

how that simple, nutritious meal is my first act of self-love