Her father died a month or maybe more ago.
She is surprised how already
It’s difficult to remember exactly the day.
Here she is in her life
In her kitchen, curling orange zest into a bowl,
citrus clouding at her fingertips,
Five spices for
curing duck breasts fragrant in her nose.
She never made this dish for him—her father.
Once she told him, when he called:
This is what I’m cooking tonight, for guests.
One day I will make it for you
Without the garlic.
It sounds exotic, he said.
It has Szechuan pepper in it, she said.
One day she will make this dish
Without noticing that she is still alive.
Ronélle Hart has always loved writing and how our words and stories tell about who we are, and continue to give shape to our every awareness. She has written and blogged about personal memory, food, relationships and the experience of therapy, and has recently turned to writing poetry. Her poetry has been published in Ja.Magazine as well as in the international journal, Jonah Magazine. Her personal essays around food and memory have been published in Food&Home Entertaining magazine.