Mother Poem by Anisa Tara

You aren't dead yet
But I will miss you
When the time comes
To say
Our unsanctioned goodbye

One day when
I have my own pots to stir
The thought of you
Will bring me back here
To the scent of your kitchen
Aroma of your fried chicken
Fried garlic, bits of black
All will bring me back
The wafting smell of curries
Every sort and variety
Tingle of herb and spice
Warm, soft rice

Beyond the fade of old conversations
Slivers now forgotten
Debates and arguments
Bitter tears and disappointment
Over the kindling of earthen pots
And blackened woks
Beyond all these ingredients
And our irreconcilable differences
Beyond the recipes I didn't keep
Curried lambs and stewed leek
Beyond all this, mother
I will only remember
Our unsanctioned goodbye