Cheese, sizzling,
Combines with its aroma
Sauce, wafting
Into my family’s eight
Nostrils, flaring.
Ziti: my mind, reeling
Back to last July
Second day, crying
About the empty chair
That left us longing
For more time
With she we loved.
So we drank beer
And ate where she lived
The ziti that fell from the pan
Into the oven, pre-heated
By Aunt Eileen, grieving,
Trying still to keep us pleased.
The ziti tray falling
Gave us the laughter we needed.
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