cook, concoct, conjure
Welcome to Mommy’s El Camino.
Learning more about ancestors. Making strides in the reading of three tomes. Singing to the garlic, undressing them, taking off their tight little coats and getting the juice under my thumbnail. Turning the oven on. Watching evil on tv, fictional, nonfictional, fiction based on nonfiction.
The spider web in the middle of the frame. Chopping the garlic. The spider web strung from tree to tree. Pain coursing down one leg.
On a warm autumn day I found my mother in a hospital room in another part of the city, the same hospital where my grandmother passed fourteen years ago. The hospital is home to a labyrinth. Discharged, we wheeled my mother out and ferried her home. Her language and vigor keep her from being an ancestor as of yet.
Making a tentative peace with preparations for cooking, my least favorite part of cooking. The oil shimmers.
I cook, concoct, conjure. Such is fall.
my books are waiting to be read by you