We screened the movie, Nonnas
which left us aching:
how must that mysterious mythical
Sunday gravy taste?
He dug online until he arrived
at a copy of the vaunted
Nonna's Sunday Gravy
from Enoteca Maria on Staten Island.
We ran sourcing missions
at two local markets and
came back equipped with the
building blocks of generational love.
Afternoon into evening, he stirred
simmered sieved and sliced
bearing witness as distinct foods
begat a perfumed sinfonia.
Darkness laid thick upon us
Headlights climb the hill
Grandpa arrives with appetite
We sit down for the promised meal.
We light the candles
share our I'm Grateful Fors
some grate Parmigiano Reggiano and we
dive into steaming bowls of comfort.
Room falls silent as each family member
plunges into a private reverie
a meditation evoked only by those
meals which transcend time.
Forks clatter down on emptied dishes
piercing reverential stillness.
Someone murmurs,
Would you like some more?
Chairs drag eagerly along rug
metal ladle scrapes the bottom of enameled iron and a
chorus of unguarded sighs of delight radiate warmth
as our family melds together like all-day red sauce.
