A Home Cooked Meal (Merry Christmas Mom)

aromas waft seductively up the stairs
taking their time. luxuriating in the climb.
nose hairs tingle, thrilling in anticipation
firing neurons, overloading sensory input
exploding fireworks, raining confetti
the joy I feel when I smell mom’s spaghetti

run downstairs, just to watch her stir the sauce
anticipation so sweet, almost don’t want to eat
until I see the feast and gorge like a beast
don’t stop until I can’t see my feet.
I can’t help myself, its just too good
mom makes a meaner meal than poverty in the hood

I don’t know how she does it, maybe just practice
I have all her recipes, blueprints for ecstasy
but I can only build meals, not fountains of bliss
I think its because mom cooks with her heart
her cooking spiced with love and sweet memory
the taste of spaghetti a warm embrace of joie de vivre