Kitchen Necessity

The fridge is bare this Tuesday night,

No comfort food, no welcome sight.

Just wilting greens and milk so old,

A dinner story to unfold.

No one will cook, it's plain to see,

So this task falls to only me.

I found a book, its pages creased,

A culinary, daunting feast.

The egg recipe, smudged and worn,

A promise of a meal reborn.

I grip the shell, it feels so small,

And pray I do not drop it all.

From cereal, a meager meal,

To learning how my hands can feel

The heat, the stir, the simple art,

Of feeding my own hungry heart.