It was a family recipe:
Passed down through the generations,
Tomato Sauce with Seared Lamb Shanks,
Prepared on a Sunday afternoon in the fall,
Side by side in the kitchen cramped,
We assemble the ingredients with care
Fresh herbs – oregano, sweet basil, marjoram
Cultivated in the summer garden
I mince the cloves of garlic
You braise the shanks of lamb
Sautee yellow onions, sizzling in olive oil,
Deglaze the pan juices with Bardolino red wine
Pour in a can of Roma Tomatoes
Salt and pepper just a dash
The aroma of the Old World wafts
Through our home out to neighborhood
Appetite heightened with the scent we all share
You begin to stir the pot
Steady revolutions of your arm
Tasting the sauce with a spoon as you go along
Flavors amalgamate, intensify,
Left to simmer all afternoon
For the marrow to seep from the bones
Sweetening the sauce
Tenderizing the meat
Thickening to succulence
To congeal to the angel hair pasta strands
In a teak wood box, the recipe is kept
For safe keeping, written in flowing hand,
On an index card, laminated, to wash off stains
Yesterday, I looked at it again
It was a long time since the sauce was made
I am not so sure I can make it as you did
Tomorrow marks your birthday celebration
Should I go shopping to buy the ingredients needed?
Will the recipe help remember you?
Recollect how we cooked together?
Yet, I do not have the appetite
I could stir and stir the sauce all day
It would still taste of bitterness without you here
Without the evenness of your hand
I light a candle, pluck a rose, and put a birthday card
On a shelf near an engraved, ginger-jarred urn;
It is all that is left of you now