Utensils
The wide bowl
Has enough depths to
Hold popcorns in
Streaming brooks of
My weeping eyes
The burns on the pan
Exhibits heat and smoke
Of my stressful day
The coffee mug is my
Ever forgiving friend
Even though I fractured
his hand,
By being careless, as I’m
Many times with
bones of my friendships
The slender spoons
Have been touched by
My many lovers
Bearing testimony to
The fervor while feeding
Midnight ice creams
The scars on the wok
Mimics that of mine
As we learned together
how new appetites leave
Blotches on the beauty
But bakes you right
The crimson drips
From the truthful knife as
I pierce the red apple
In turmoil, for the
The nosy aunt who points
Without fail each time
at my ticking clock
The empathic pressure cooker
Whistles right at the moment
When preparing dinner alone
Starts to suck me into
silences of sadness
My rose-gold tray exudes
Abundance to any visitor
That passes by my abode,
Displaying the warmth
And the love of my heart
Taking this minute to
Thank my primary friends,
My comrades in the
Ups and downs —
My glorious utensils.
