What food would you say is your specialty?
What food is mine, my truest art?
It shifts each day, a changeful heart.
For I can cook near anything,
Yet follow where my fancies sing.
The sea and soil both call to me,
A pescatarian harmony—
Where herbs entwine with ocean’s mist,
And sunshine clings to all I’ve kissed.
I never cook the same way twice,
Each meal a poem, each spice a dice.
A whisper here, a shimmer there—
Creation dancing through the air.
I write no notes, I keep no chart,
Just follow flavor, trust the heart.
And though the taste may drift away,
Its echo warms another day.
When baking calls, I heed its rhyme—
Soft butter, sugar, hands in time.
I read the rules, then bend them slight,
And shape my sweetness by the light.
So what’s my dish, my signature hue?
It’s everything—and nothing too.
A fleeting song, a fragrant sigh,
A bite of earth, a taste of sky.
The Writings of Felina Silver 
Leave a comment