It is said you are what you eat—
I’d like to bid farewell
to fifteen pounds,
but oh how bittersweet their memory…
And with that:
The griddle sizzles.
Little water bubbles
spritzed from my fingertips,
hop about, hot, in joyfulness.
It is a Saturday past,
long past—
The sun shining is a 1970’s toss,
between innocence and change.
It is a different brightness,
unscathed by disappointment,
and a thousand types
of death.
My mother’s apron is colorful fruit,
a vine of commitment,
tied decidedly around her beautiful waist,
(expanded and retracted,
seven times giving life).
The butter’s sweetness fills the air,
like lilacs scent a summer’s field.
A table waits with triangle-folded napkins.
Maple’s woody-amber flavor
will drizzle swirls with all the answers.
My father’s seat, at the head of the table,
seems larger than the rest.
He serves and is served.
Respect—
There is buckwheat,
vanilla,
eggs and milk,
golden-brown.
A batter churned,
and family…
My sisters enter,
each with their own style:
hippie, humble, tough, dreamer, conceited,
blue-eye-shadow—
The two boys: dark-haired princes.
Protectors.
Adventurers.
Learning…
Sometimes pleading for no sisters!
An AM/FM radio, sturdily
on the Formica kitchen counter,
plays mellow-rock,
matches the mood of a Long Island breeze,
swaying-gently sheer-white curtains.
Our dog, Pinky, sits upon a window seat.
watches for bicyclists,
setting-off her Beagle’s bark.
Quiet!
(Soon to be indulged with scraps).
Oh, how I love a good pancake—
Sweetness.
Love.
A loyal-pup.
My sister’s sass.
Brother’s bravery.
My beautiful mother’s nurturing…
Father’s lessons…
Saturday morning’s sunshine,
hopefulness.
All of it…
Because I am what I eat:
The nostalgic pancake.
Stacked,
a circle of heaven.
Cut-into,
and delightfully consumed.
Satisfy a space for
peace and happiness.
What once was in every bite—
Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte
©2015 All Rights Reserved
***
After thought – I discover in myself a revelation, that, the “pancake” in and of itself, in fact, is not an evil weight-inducing-conspiracy against me and my goals toward fitness, but rather what I seek in eating it is: the fulfillment beyond its flour-mix and fluffiness… What leads to much more indulging than I should, in an attempt to consume more than the meal itself, but that of the security of love and nurturing it was once served with on its porcelain plate. For as a child, the buttery-sweet pleasantry never created an extra pound. The meal ended where it was, with nourishment, energy, eaten together as a family. It wasn’t until later that the search for more than “its…” (not just the pancake) caloric nourishment, would lead to a less than gratifying experience, all while ingesting the heavenly bites in hope towards a fulfilling and happy life.
As an aside thought – Food is life’s source for survival. Love is the emotional source that gives way to great things: accomplishment, courage, charity, fortitude… Sometimes, the two sources become entangled and confused.
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