A Love Lasagna

I don’t know how it got there

that lasagna.

But by the time I got home

and made my way down the slippery, slate steps in the dark

dodging stringy cobwebs

and awaiting the dreaded crunch of snail squashed under foot

it was there at my door.

All crunchy yellowy-brown and browny-yellow

Bubbly red

Framed by pebbly, lumpy brown.

I don’t think it was made with Nonna’s recipe

that lasagna

because when I sat my achey back down on the first chair

and lifted cold lasagne to my mouth

I discovered

there was an intruder

Grated zuchini!

I am pretty sure that is not Nonna’s way.

Do you remember those tin on a string phones we used to make when we were children?

A tin at each end held tight to the ear

hoping and wishing and imagining that you could hear your friend at the other end?

Well that lasagna

It was like those tin can phones

But what it whispered from very far away

was this

I love you

I am thinking of you

You are not alone

I am sorry for your loss.

Eat your vegetable’s! You will be needing them.

So as I sat wearing my weariness

surrounded by swirling layers of sadness

Eating lasagne I could not taste

I knew

that as death cast its shadow across my dreams

I was not alone.

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About eatmystreet

Join in the joie de vivre.
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2 Responses to A Love Lasagna

  1. Mike says:

    A poem in two distinct tones; you have segued from the early voice to the closing one with artful effect and the description of the dish is delightfully inventive and impish. Very well writ.

  2. Pingback: Plugged vs Unplugged - eatmystreet

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