Last Mojito, The

Kitchen of Love

Bart Edelman 83 Kitchen of Love We lingered that first winter, Ate dinner every evening On a small blue table We kept beside the stove. And it never grew cold In our oversized room, Where we sang ingredients To each other in the dark. From you I learned Cooking is a patient art, A skill filled with hope And the promise spring brings To the herbs that grow Outside the open window. Yours is the voice I hear When I measure a cup of flour, Chop an onion on the block, Ease the cork from a bottle, For each vintage we share In this kitchen of love. ...