She tells me
Lumpia is her taste of home.
Traditions she had with her aunt when she was small
Hands *****
Dark hair messy,
But she smiled as she hovered over the hot oil.
Halika dito, Come here.
Gutom ka ba? Are you hungry?
She tells me
Her mother
Would have her scrub her nails,
Before sending her to set the first few servings
In the oil to fry.
She tells me
That warm phillipian-lumpia memories
Have their own special place
In her heart,
In her mind.
On her tongue.
Warm times standing speckled with youth.
She speaks soft sweet days to me
As she hands me the tongs to place the first servings in the pan.
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 8:32 PM UTC
She tells me
Lumpia is her taste of home.
Traditions she had with her aunt when she was small
Hands *****
Dark hair messy,
But she smiled as she hovered over the hot oil.
Halika dito, Come here.
Gutom ka ba? Are you hungry?
She tells me
Her mother
Would have her scrub her nails,
Before sending her to set the first few servings
In the oil to fry.
She tells me
That warm phillipian-lumpia memories
Have their own special place
In her heart,
In her mind.
On her tongue.
Warm times standing speckled with youth.
She speaks soft sweet days to me
As she hands me the tongs to place the first servings in the pan.
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