The First Meal I Made Alone

I chopped too hard, carrots split,

a clumsy dance of blade and hand.

Garlic smoke curled up, a pit—

fire alarm wails across the land.

Pan blackened, cold on cracked stove,

shells crushed in hurried disarray.

Stomach growls a dull reproach,

the mess a price I have to pay.

Burnt smell wraps around my sigh,

first taste bitter, rough, and raw.

I cook because no one will try,

and I’m learning what hunger saw.