Sunday Gravy

Written for Poetics Tuesday: Comfort Food,
hosted  by our friend, Punam, who asks us
to write a poem focusing on food. This is
my response, dedicated to my mother.

The kitchen filled with Mama’s love and time,
Her apron dusted white with flour and care,
The sauce would simmer slow, the smell sublime,
While Sunday mornings hung sweetly in the air.

With practiced hands she’d knead the golden dough,
Then roll it firm across la chitarra’s strings,
Each stroke a rhythm only she could know,
An old Italian tune that memory still sings.

The strands fell soft like notes from a guitar,
She’d gather them with flour-covered palms,
Secrets carried from her place of birth afar,
Her kitchen filled with old-world grace and calm.

We’d gather round the dinner table, big and small,
No restaurant ever matched what she could make,
For love was the most important ingredient of all,
Stirred into every bite, for her family to partake.

NAR©2026

This is “Chitarra Romana” by Luciano Pavarotti

Poetics Tuesday: Comfort food

^{Everything on The Elephant’s Trunk was created by me, unless otherwise indicated. Thanks for your consideration. NAR©2017-present.}