Not a Good Cook

I'm not a good cook, and the kitchen,
Except during meals, is the last place I’d be seen in.
But lately, not only do I hum, albeit out of tune
but I’ve also dared put on the apron
And the vegetables, the freshest from my father’s crop
I gathered and carefully peeled and chopped
and cooked, praying they’d be miraculously alright.
I smiled, and before you, I set my specialty
And offered it to you, nervously, humbly
But you were already full, you told me
So you had to decline, saying you were sorry.

Oh, I know what you’d have said had you tasted it
You’d have told me it was the best meal you’ve ever had
And I’m sure you would have meant it
Though we’d both know it’d be far from the truth.
I would have smiled and said, ‘Thank you’
and my heart would have done a somersault.
But still, on the table, the food lay untouched
And I lowered my eyes, careful not to show my pout
It would not have mattered, it would not have hurt
It would not have meant that much
Had the food I offered you hadn’t been my heart.

I’m not a good cook, but I sure tried!


Copyright Sherma Espino Benosa
November 18, 2002