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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


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