Smelling fragrantly through the house
warm olive oil and garlic.
My father taught me love
as I’d follow the odor through
the hallway to the kitchen.
Grown in the Italian sun
stirred by my father’s hands we
relished olio by the gallons.
In Italy I learned to drink the oil
as it dripped from plates of fresh
mozzarella. Newly pressed oil
My father, wearied by the depression and WWll
bow tie wearer, Cuban cigar lover
valedictorian, patent holder, business owner.
Could he imagine
this is how I would remember him?
Olive oil and garlic in the kitchen.
Perbohner, Ann. “Sweet Oil.” Bloodroot Literary Magazine. Thetford Center: Potami, 2012. 49. Print.