I burn bacon thinking about Gwendolyn Brooks

and Emmett Till and “Minnie don’t burn chicken.”

They say, throw spaghetti on the wall. I say,

roast chicken in the oven preheated at 375.

This is where we argue & hear the Holy Spirit,

play monopoly and spades and watch the snow fall.

Let the dog out. Let the dog chase you around.

Give him a treat where the carpet meets the tile.

This is where we kiss. This is where we pray. I feel

like my mother when my socks stick to spots of juice.

This is where the officer didn’t say anything. A glass dish

on a hot eye goes tick-tick-tick before it explodes.

Ode to the crock pot & a hundred chuck roasts with potatoes

carrots, celery, onions, and a can of diced tomatoes.

We shopped for that table the day after Christopher died.

This is where we play scrabble and lay out the manuscript.

Chase the kids around the kitchen. Teach them

how to bake cookies and mac and cheese.

Collard greens should be seasoned with pure love.

How many sat at this table, leaf extended?

A gagle of candy-delirious girls sleeping over

A silence of boys eating sausage and biscuits

Ask all the questions it takes to fall in love.

Listen to the ancestors on how to make do.

How not to trip over the dog when cooking on a stormy day:

1. Stand still

2. Feel his body shiver behind your heels

3. Order pizza

Ode to the crock pot & a hundred turkey breasts

with carrots, onions, celery, and rice.

Fry fish in jiffy cornbread mix

Or gluten-free pancake batter.

I never throw spaghetti on the wall.

It’s either done or it isn’t.