Taste and Memory

In the kitchen, spices spun stories of home,

a cracked bowl dusty with secrets I'd roam.

Chicken soup simmered, with love, with tears,

I tried to recreate but was lost in my fears.

The flavors escaped me, the warmth turned to ash,

a bitter reminder, a culinary crash.

The taste was her laughter, the comfort of care,

but all I could summon was silence and air.