To my first cutting board

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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