The other weekend I had taken out the frozen pizza dough from the freezer that my mom had sent me in a package filled with Italian products from where I grew up.
The nostalgia hit my soul when I began to roll the Apicello’s dough through the flour on my kitchen table. I felt a warm sensation as I envisioned being in my grandmother’s kitchen, with the aroma of fresh ingredients and unconditional love filling the air. It took me back to a place of serenity and knowing those moments that my sister, cousins, and I hold are eternal. Those moments were filled with loud voices and belly laughs that I’ll forever hold onto.
Here is a piece that shines a small light on how these experiences mold me into who I have become.
.:Thank you for taking the time to listen to my heart:.
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Scents of safety Kneading dough Envisioning us side by side. Missing the giggles– side by side I’ll never forget to stick the fork in the dough so it could breathe. —------ My mind flashes back to the times I’d watch your aged fingers spread the dough across the pan, Tracing lifelines of the women before you. On a magic Sunday, we stood at your hip; soaking up our heritage and learning to tell stories through our meals. Graciously teaching us where we come from, with a stern love in her tone, We’d grasp each mental note Because nothing sacred is ever written down. —------- Sprinkle the parmesan Place slices of harvested tomato from the garden. Then the mozz. Don’t be shy. Sprinkle seasonings of Italians who’ve made this in the kitchens of their grandmothers With firm words and soft hearts. —------ My breathe escaped me when you transitioned to an angel. But everytime I knead my dough Your spirit fills my soul With memories of us Held in our homes, As we giggle, Kneading our dough, side by side.
Amazing piece! 🙌🏾🤗❤️💚