Yes, you are.
You’re a poet.
Oh, I know I am.
I’ve been that since the first time Mama smiled
at my scribbles,
my rhymes,
my seven-year-old genius
that only she could see.

Yes, you are.
You are a cook.
Oh, I know I am.
I’ve been one since I realized
no one else is going to feed me.
After a few decades,
and more than a few disasters,
I am a fine cook,
but today is leftovers day.

Yes, you are.
You are a friend.
I try to be, but sometimes I am needy,
sometimes I am distant,
sometimes wrapped up in a story,
but sometimes I am there
when you need me.