Tomorrow’s dinner simmers
on this day, that I both don’t any longer
– and do –
celebrate. A semi-homemade
cherry cake still needs assembly;
there’s a want to mix my
ethnic metaphors & bake it
in a Dala-horse shaped pan; cross
my father’s food with my
mother’s almost-land.
Cherries
for the Solstice, sunshine from
the freezer. I’ve spent this year
leaning into family long-lost, savouring
each new kitchen delight. There are
so many
cookbook pages yet to come. Am I
still trying to sing
my father’s and grandmother’s souls
home? Traditions
have a starting point, a place where they are
not yet, but being born. This labor
is delicious. Yes. Paprikash tomorrow;
cherry-cake for the Solstice.