Cooked every recipe I ever knew
And some I knew never to be
Read every cookbook I ever had
Hoping to find the right key
A food that would help find 
Just the right spot
So ‘self’ doesn’t feel so alone
A place that they say
You can never return
That long ago place called home.

I cooked curries and chowders
Grilled cheese with ham
Lamb shank and pork chops
With lots of mint jam

Polish Kielbasa
With beet/horseradish sauce
It was a strange color
Looked like purple moss

Oysters with fresh lemon
Juice squeezed right in
Tuna and sardines 
Right from the tin…

Rock Cornish game hen
With small sweet green peas
Pizza with mushrooms
And of course, lots of cheese

Crock potted stews
And spaghetti with sauce
Homemade of course
And salads you toss

Brown beans with hot dogs
Slaw and some chips
Fried fish in a box
With sauces you dip

Then I remembered 
A long time ago
Mother making a sandwich
As Dad turned to go

It slid in his pocket 
Waxed paper to fresh
Bologna on pumpernickel
And wouldn’t you guess

That was the ‘dish’
I was hoping to find
To help still the lonely
And give peace of mind

Not very nutritious
But I won’t eat much
I just needed a time
I could reach back and touch.