Monday, August 16, 2021


My mother’s vintage iron pan, 

heavy, hot, ready

she fried up love

caramelization of the soul 

from pot roast Sunday to pizza Friday


Daddy grinned like a kid

savoring simple bounty

pure intention

filled-up empty spaces


Soft white bread, gold potatoes, 

brown saucy gravy

onions permeate the senses

slippery and fragrant

a lone, strong flavor that bonds a family


Now I have my own black iron pan

half my weight required just to heave it onto the stove 

black soil beneath my fingernails

sauté broccoli, 

parboil summer’s hybrids and heirlooms

eat now, store more for winter 

there’s plenty, don’t worry

Order gourmet crab 

douse with herb-infused oil

tend with fervor

stare into space

until dinner sizzles done

1 comment:

  1. The smells of the kitchen of our youth leave such beautiful memories. Well said