Nonna tends Dad and Auntie
in three room railroad flat;
Bathtub in kitchen,
3′ x 5′ plywood tabletop,
fridge at foot of bed,
toilet in outside hallway
with overhead waterbox
and cold, wet chain
hanging for the flush
that suburban cousin Gina
never could
figure out how to use.
Nonna fork-kneads one-inch pillows of dough
filled with cheese, parsley, and beef.
Tasted wonderful,
even if too-many eggs and over-cooking
meant they fell apart
in grease-speckled broth.
“Al Dente” could have been an opera singer,
for all Nonna knew.
She could not cook Italian:
The ravioli was the closest she came,
and home-made fettuccine
I helped to hand-slice with a pizza cutter
with sauce more water than tomato
that slicked copper down my throat.
But always there with a treat.
“What kind of ice cream did you get, Nonna?”
On sale.
Rich, with a smile.


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Giancarlo, Memories of your family ……. Wonderful. So many memories of your home and loved ones came flowing back.