what makes you stare intently
while I chop carrots?
is it the crisp crunch
or the vulnerability of the carrot
against my sharp knife
as you watch me
your head is tilted
let me borrow your mind
the carrots are slightly slippery
do they know they are about to be eaten?
my hands are effortless
I remember when they weren't
here, memories move my body
our dinner plate is filled
with the years I spent
in my mother's kitchen
your curious eyes
marked this evening
I think I will be strange, like you