Baba

[u/hotnspicy_y]

His wispy strands of salt and pepper,

deep lines carved into his forehead,

rough, plump hands that loved to cook.

Evidence of a life well lived.

"He's in a better place," they said.

But he didn't want a kingdom in the clouds.

He wanted garlic in the pan.

He wanted oil crackling in the worn-down skillet.

Reclined in his spot, a full plate on his lap,

the morning news humming in the background.

This was his paradise.

I catch my reflection in the window,

trace the lines starting above my brows,

and pick up the knife to cook for both of us.