PERSON Poem: STARS & BUTTER, by Stephen Barile

Her expertise
was pasta, “shells”
she made by-hand forming
dough over the joint
of her left thumb.
Last door in the hallway,
a sleeping porch,
was Jimmy’s bedroom
in the house
on Roosevelt Avenue.
Screened-windows
on two sides
left open on purpose
for any chance
of a breeze
on a Fresno night.
After her youngest boy
double-crossed her
& moved out,
She renovated the room
for food preparazione,
To do her baking.
Like all six of her sons,
he married a woman
who was not Italian.
She was consoled
when making pasta
on the bread-board,
like she used to do
in her mother’s cucina.
Sacks of plain flour
& semolina on the table
covered in cotton cloth,
a rolling pin, and spoons.
She crafted flat noodles
with a pasta-machine
brought from Italy.
Meatballs & marinara sauce
she made with fresh lamb
from the butcher shop,
& tomatoes from her garden.
Easter, she made cookies.
Dough-wrapped hard-boiled eggs,
with glaze & sprinkles.
Her Christmas cookies,
the same without the egg.
The only store-bought pasta
she would ever consider
spending money on
at Piemonte’s Grocery
were tiny stars.
Stars, made celestial
with the addition of butter,
she served in a bowl
for lunch on Saturdays.

Author: poetryfest

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