Poem: More than Heat Rises

The water boils over.

The pot is alive.

He says, "you need to pay attention."

The stove makes whooshing sounds.

We aren't having fun.

One noodle has escaped.

Dancing near the ring of fire.

The rest of the noodles are edible.

His nagging persists.


Makes me grab paper towels,

clean up the bubbled water,

the mess I made.

I took too long.

The noodles are the size of my pinky.

We will be eating fat noodles.

While draining the frothy water,

a handful of noodles fall into the sink.

One bounces and lands on the pot handle.

It wants to be noticed,

though not enough water remains.

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