Iteration number 1 – the original

My feet ache as I shift my weight from the fake tiles of my kitchen.

Our green clock seems to be mocking me as it flashes closer to midnight.

Though my hair is still dripping from my fresh shower I still feel the phantom of grease from work on my skin.

I hate smelling like pizza.

I stand above the oven and my hand stirs what’s in the pan absentmindedly.

The sound of me hitting the pan to shake the sauce off so I can stir the noodles breaks the silence every few minutes.

The house seems to hum around me.

I can hear Hannah’s tiktoks playing softly from the couch.

I can’t help but yawn. 

I cringe at the feeling in my right knee.

I forgot my brace for my shift.

It doesn’t agree with me after I stand on it for twelve hours.

Soon enough the smell is too good for my rumbling stomach to ignore.

I decide the sauce is cooked enough.

I strain the pasta.

I divvy it up into two different bowls.

Mine is piled much higher than Hannah’s.

This is my first real meal today.

If you can call it that.

I always give her a little more sauce than she needs.

I bring her bowl to her in her spot on the couch.

She snuggles deeper into her blanket as she takes it.

She puts her phone down and waits for me to sit in my place on the couch.

What are we watching tonight?

Iteration number 2 – I edited this one after peer review and after it had been workshopped in class so I had a lot to fix in this poem. I completely cut the original third stanza and played around with some lines between my new third stanza and my original second stanza.

My feet ache as I shift my weight on the fake tiles of my kitchen.

Our green clock seems to be mocking me as it flashes closer to midnight.

Though my hair is still dripping from my fresh shower I still feel the phantom of grease from work on my skin.

I hate smelling like pizza.

I stand above the oven and my hand stirs the still gooey sauce in the pan absentmindedly.

My hands work on autopilot as I will the cheese sauce to be done faster.

I’ve been making this dinner since I was five.

My dad’s super secret mac and cheese recipe.

I can’t help but yawn. 

The ache in my joints rivals the ache in my stomach.

The house seems to hum around me.

I can hear Hannah’s tiktoks playing softly from the couch.

The sound of me hitting the pan to shake the sauce off so I can stir the noodles breaks the silence every few minutes.

Soon enough the smell is too good for my rumbling stomach to ignore.

I decide the sauce is cooked enough.

I strain the pasta.

I divvy it up into two different bowls.

Mine is piled much higher than Hannah’s.

This is my first real meal today.

If you can call it a meal.

I always give her a little more sauce than she needs.

I bring her bowl to her in her spot on the couch.

She snuggles deeper into her blanket as she takes it.

She puts her phone down and waits for me to sit in my place on the couch.

What are we watching tonight?

Iteration number 3 – For this one I only changed minor things. I switched little words to try to make it read better or a bit more clear that I was making mac and cheese as that seemed to be lost on a lot of people.

My feet ache as I shift my weight on the fake tiles of my kitchen.

Our green clock seems to be mocking me as it flashes closer to midnight.

Though my hair is still dripping from my fresh shower I still feel the phantom of grease from work on my skin.

I hate smelling like pizza.

I stand above the oven and my hand stirs the still separated sauce in the pan absentmindedly.

My hands work on autopilot as I will the cheese sauce to be done faster.

I’ve been making this dinner since I was five.

My dad’s super secret mac and cheese recipe.

I can’t help but yawn. 

The pain in my joints rivals the ache in my stomach.

The house seems to hum around me.

As Hannah’s tiktoks playing softly from the couch.

The sound of me hitting the pan to shake the sauce off my spoon so I can stir the noodles breaks the silence every few minutes.

Soon enough the smell is too good for my rumbling stomach to ignore.

I decide the sauce is cooked enough.

I strain the pasta.

I divvy it up into two different bowls.

Mine is piled much higher than Hannah’s.

This is my first real meal today.

If you can call it a meal.

I always give her a little more sauce than she needs.

I bring her bowl to her in her spot on the couch.

She snuggles deeper into her blanket as she takes it.

She puts her phone down and waits for me to sit in my place on the couch.

What are we watching tonight?