I found you
wrapped in plastic
shivering on the concrete
basement floor.
A crescent moon-shaped slot
allows me to hold you
as I slide my diced onions
into the sizzling skillet.
Dense bamboo wood,
face marred with shallow cuts
chiseled into your skin,
scars I have given you.
“Joy of Cooking”
stamped on your body,
a promise from God that
where you go, satisfaction will follow.
Four homes, four kitchens,
but only you are essential.
You are the inspiration
behind every dish.
You are my first cutting board.
By Lindsay Jankowski
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