Mom’s Kitchen

Mom is sick,

a sad thought, but

there is one benefit,

I can finally occupy the kitchen

the forbidden lands of war

where you come out with scars, but always 

a reward


I wear my mother's green apron

as if wearing armour in the battlefield.

I treat ingredients with passion,

sprinkle the seasoning carefully,

make sure to clean up.


With a little bit of confidence,

a trace of nervousness and panic,

I push the pizza 

into the oven 

hoping to surprise her


Floating aroma and

a good heart 

and dedication

All for my mom


This poem is about: 
My family


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741