Career Counseling in the Kitchen

Due to the Loss of Field Roast Artisan Grain Sausage

Under the pastry board
that pulls out like an awning,
I found her. Half in, half out
of a cabinet door,
its shelter a hard cloak
that could hide the tears.

She was weeping
because we forgot to leave her
more than one ring
of spicy sausage.

Come here,

I told her, and gathered her
thirteen-year-old frame
into my arms, pulled her
towards my warm body.

I love that you are crying about sausage,

I said. And she rolled her eyes
like I was just some crazy mama
trying to comfort with nonsense.

No, really,

I whispered. Because, I told her,
not everyone would cry about sausage.
She might be a famous chef someday
or a travel and food writer.

Such a person might cry
under an awning in New York
or Paris, about a sausage,
or a lost link to some recipe
from the past.