Cordelia’s Kitchen

A poem

Photo by Todd Cravens on Unsplash

Cordelia served up bowls
of oatmeal with handfuls
of raisins and butter pats
melting in spoonfuls
of brown sugar at my preschool,
Middle Earth, in the 1980s.
Her oatmeal was my favorite —
it felt like a warm hug, a bowl
of sunshine and sustenance.

Afternoons, Cordelia was sometimes
tasked with removing splinters
from hands playing too hard on olden
wooden toys. She’d talk kindly
while rubbing wounds with alcohol,
gently removing wooden dagger
slivers with tweezers and tenderness.

Because of Cordelia, I knew from a young age
kindness can emanate from unexpected places.