30/30 – Day 19
There are giggles coming from the dining room.
They echo down the hallway, blown confetti and bubbles,
glass marbles holding words that are breakable
and bouncing. Words like
In the kitchen, dinner is a chaos of steam and skewer,
muttered prayers and only half-joking curses
peppering the meal with its final coating of spice.
Hands that follow different masters but work together
weave salt and flame, knife and lamb –
tradition. But more.
Hours away from shared DNA, language or history,
religion is reborn in a kitchen that does not know my
mother’s name. We are the new children of Israel,
seeking not Jerusalem, but the promise of something
Holy, is only a four letter word,
appropriated to a map and made two-dimensional.
In a remixed jumble food and wine,
holy is glass marbles in a new hallway,
each one spelling out the word home.