The Way to a Woman's Heart

Poet: Jenesis Fonseca

In my family, there is always a kitchen.

In the kitchen, there are always women.

And in the women, there is always fear.

Fear that this time, the recipe won’t work. 

That the man will leave his meal unfinished.

Thats the man’s stomach will find pleasure in someone else’s home.

That she has served him too much or not enough.

That he is already too full or hungry for something else.

And that it will be the woman’s fault.

Too much sugar, or not enough, I guess.

In my family, good cooking is a valued centerpiece.

Keeps the men close, brings them home every night.

Grandmother believed a good meal says “I love you,” better than a kiss.

Grandmother believed a good meal says “I’m sorry” better than an apology.

Like my grandmother, my mother serves an excess, says “you can never, never love too much.”

One night, Daddy didn’t come home for dinner.

His plate left cold on the table.

He woke Mommy up at four in the morning after his night out drinking,

dragged her by the hair into the kitchen demanding she cook him his favorite meal.

She said, “chiles rellenos”

“I’m sorry.”

A side of rice.

“I love you.”

Another beer from the fridge.

“I’m sorry I love you.”

Breakfast next morning was the last time she apologized for him.

Her cooking is best, but the men in my mother’s life have never stayed for seconds.

They say, “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach."

There is no proverb about the way to a woman’s heart.

The way into her is more important.

Two daughters later, and years after the divorce, my mother still cooks like there’s a man in the house.

She glances at the empty chair on our table and asks me more than once, if i’m sure dinner tastes good tonight.

I guess apologies can taste a lot like love sometimes.

I don’t know how to cook.

The man I love cooks for me.

Knows the way to my heart isn’t food or roses, but the kind of honest love that fills.

And I may not know how to cook yet.

But Mommy still showed me how to love - myself, too much, always.

Even if he doesn’t stay.