Foodmories

(Food Memories)

The aroma of toast
Pulls me from bed
In pajamas I spy
My mother bending
Over an open oven door
Toasting bread for our stuffing
Announcing a yearly ritual
Thanksgiving morning is here.

We stand together,
Lined up tall to small,
We mix, roll and cut,
The oil is hot and ready for dough,
Strouffles, little honey balls,
Mean Christmas is near.

Christmas brings a special gift,
Lasagna layered with love,
Pasta, sauce, and cheese.
Mouth-watering squares,
Fresh bread, dipped in sauce,
Tells the story on my plate.

Watching Abbott and Costello
Lying on my belly,
Chin in hands,
Legs swaying in the air,
Is a sure sign we’re at Grandma’s house,
For Sunday’s lunch.

A bubbling pot of minestrone
And sauce on the stove
Fresh parmesan cheese
Ready to grate over top.

A large bowl of salad,
Fresh greens and ripe tomatoes,
Black olives on fingertips, and
Grandma’s special dressing,
That only she can make.

Foodmories stirred into our hearts,
Baked into our minds,
And slowly simmer to remind us
That food served with love –
Is love.