Food is a Love Language
Three bell peppers.
She held the top of one with the palm of her hand.
Places it on its side
Glides the blade along the top off
Turns the pepper on its bottom
Creates blades out of each
Delicately slides them to one side of her station
Palms one onion
Her eyes drip
She is unfazed.
Cores the onion
Slices round strips as she rotates the bulb quickly
Her art is complete, but the journey has just begun.
One dash of pepper
A sprinkle of salt
She pounds the flesh
Fire ablaze under
One small drop
Quickly becomes a viscous puddle
The pan sizzles
Her magic seems effortless
She gingerly flips her creation
salting once more
Pouring a rainbow of peppers
She smirks.
She is pleased.
Fire low, then finally, off.
The kitchen is steamy.
My plate is soon wiped clean
of Grandma’s steak.
Our bellies are full.