Can’t take my mind off my crockpot creation.

Gastronomic patience.  Expecting to cook and cool.

And eat.  Glued to the scent of a recipe.

Sensation.  Enjoyment in a word.

Yesterday.  Thanksgiving’s trip.

Concluded family matters.

Babcia treading kitchen linoleum.

In darkness.  Her skidding slippers sounded.

Lonely.  And her cookbook collection.  Rearranged.

My thoughts.  A new library of culinary habits.

Never tried once until soup.

Think.  Thank.  Thunk.

On the long flight home.

A lentil.  Craving purposed my mind.

Why not?  Stew it over while writing.

Half past morning.  My favorite shop of coffee.

Googled ingredients.  For a better batch than one.

Found leaving home.

In a crumbling copy.  Laurel’s Kitchen.

Sadly for something.  Thinner than thick.

Supposing.

Dinner was a bowl of this.

Would I return?

Again.  Until.  Full.