I haven't forgotten you,
when I am chopping meat on
the counter,
and my little hands house swelling
veins over
kitchen heat and stove top steam
and rosemary and
bay leaves

When my tiny arms are
reaching for a cup that I'd
forgotten in the
microwave, still hot to the
touch by the
handle
and I'm
pouring broth into the
pan that you cannot
eat from.

I have not forgotten.