Learning the Pot by Sound

by The Hearth Voice

Original EveryPoem Studio house-voice poem.

My mother does not measure when she makes the greens. She says enough, then adds more garlic. She says you'll know, and waits for the pot to change its voice. I write nothing down. I stand beside her, learning the color, the softened stem, the taste before salt. Some recipes survive because two people shared a kitchen long enough to become the instructions.

63 words · 15 lines · Free Verse

African American motherhoodcookinginheritancefamilydialoguesensory imagerymetaphor free-verse

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