By Olivia Falk, TIWP Student

I just can’t get it right
Too much of that spice, not enough of the other
My soup lacks the heat that makes my mouth tingle yet doesn’t stop me from taking another generous bite
My meat is chewy and tough, yours practically melted in my mouth
Just by picking it up, it would fall off the bone, dripping in juices
And you even made me fall in love with vegetables
Roasting them to perfection or simply tossing them into a salad
You would transform what was an enemy to my young eyes into a delicacy
And don’t get me started on the desserts you would make
I haven’t even tried to compare to your confections gifted from the gods
God, the richness of your brownies, the delicate spongey nature of your chantilly cake
Even the simple givings, the way you would chop a crisp apple, even and sure
Nothing can compete
In my relentless battle that has left me stained, well really my apron
Leaving me with the battle wounds of a disaster of a kitchen and almost inedible food
My heart is left aching
Because mom, nothing, no one, will replicate your cooking, your warmth, your love
I’m trying to find you
Can you help me out?