Though the kitchen, dimly lit,
Is less Aladdin and more Martha;
Though the chintz aprons and pink handles
scream anti-feminista.
She and I,
side by side,
are a force potent and silver.

She is shorter than I am, now,
And peppered through with salt;
I close my eyes to her clutter
And she to my waste;
and we cook,
side by side,
making dynamic noise among the pans.

We each eat half, though it’s too much,
And glazedly discuss the air,
She corrects my politics and
I correct her gender roles.
She and I,
side by side,
are tender, familiar and kind.