My mother never taught me to measure.
It was always cut first, taste later and
even the dishes
with ingredients so blatantly overwhelming
one another
too much salt,
or garlic powder
too much sugar
there was always a remedy
My mother never taught me to measure,
because the best guidance is the heart
you eat to keep yourself going
day by day
keep yourself in good health, punctuating phone calls with the phrase
who knows better what you crave but you?
she taught me that
she taught me that cooking is a kind of magic
a frenzy of sweat and love and work
no rhyme or reason
but no better result
no need to measure
she just knew, she just toiled
i am worlds away from her kitchen table
craving something not quite there, for
i don’t have the gift quite yet
i’m learning to make it my own
and i marinate and season and toil and dream and wonder if i will ever make something as good as her
something that someone else will breathe in and call home
something i can hand over with my heart and say,
here. keep in good health.
i am so desperate to care for another
not just myself
i am hungry for a home i have not yet made
food is better shared
i never learned how to measure
but women are masterminds
we pick up things quickly from the matrons before us
we venerate them in hopes we become them
numbers are limiting
nourishment is infinite
as long as the body buzzes with life,
we are infinite
Editor(s): Danielle C., Cathay L., Claudia S.
Photo Credits: Unsplash