I stand outside the kitchen
and watch you framed by its window.
Bathed in warm yellow light,
you add a pinch of this
a dash of that
and whip butter in a small white bowl.
Briefly you look up at me,
but with distracted blue eyes.
You return to the work of
provision and nuturance for me and your girls
with virile command over your culinary enterprise.
The roundness of your shoulders draped in soft orange cotton and
the strength of your blond haired arms are
finally revealed.
The beauty of you
and the sweetness of this minute
stun me.
I think I hear music,
liting and breezy.
It's not the music
from the Barbie movie playing in the next room.
It's an original score
for just this moment in time.