Marinara

on a stool
in my Nona's
kitchen sitting
watching there was
no food channel
it wouldn't have
mattered she had
no television
she was our
Italian Julia
Child

on a stool
in my childhood
i would watch
my Nona cook
without words
without recipes
a pinch of this
and three
bay leaves
for the
trinity

as time passed
before Nona
passed she passed
a rooted plant to
my Mum which
grew and then 
before my Mum
passed she passed
some of the same
rooted plant to
me which

i planted now
walking in my
backyard smelling
the fresh scent of
Nona and Mum's
kitchen i cut
without
measurement
or recipe the needed
amount i know i need
oregano
Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

Poem

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Pigeon Tart Avatar
May 25, 2019 at 10:24 PM
Satiating read. Just wonderful Jeff. xomo
Connelly Avatar
May 25, 2019 at 10:29 PM
So much thanks Maureen. Mostly all of my poems are based in truth, except the whimsy ones; but I just cut some of this very oregano for a woman at work. It's nice to see that the flavor goes on. A true heirloom blessing. Thanks Maureen.
Mchattie Avatar
May 25, 2019 at 2:32 PM
Lovely memory to have. A wonderful tale from by gone days. Have a good day my friend.
Connelly Avatar
May 25, 2019 at 10:25 PM
So true David. Thank you.
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