I learned from my mother to always

keep my eye on the steaming coffee cup,

to never let that cup of joe

escape your peripheral

and find its way onto the

inner threads of the carpet.

I learned that brussel sprouts

truly aren’t the epitome of vegetables.

Charred leaves submerged

in vegetable oil topped with

more than just one

pinch of salt.

I learned the true meaning of care,

midnight ice cream runs,

years of laundry,

multiple examples of trust

towards me,

even when I showed not

an ounce of thankfulness.

I learned the process of patience,

as I transitioned from your

back-seat taxi rides,

to passenger seat choferes,

to the shift from your van

to mine.

Yet, most importantly

I learned the taste of

an exceptional chicken-pot-pie.