I am made by my grandma;

strong hands crumble the stock over the boiling water, a seasoned nose smells the fumes. 

 

She stirs me until I’m finished

like she’s done a thousand times.

My family tastes me and tells grandma

she used too much salt on me. 

But at the end of dinner every bowl is scraped clean.

 

Grandma did her best to make me.

I know she did.