In My Grandmother’s Kitchen

(For Elga Williams)


  • Paulette A. Ramsay


I sit on the battered stool
first in a long line
of eager descendants
to occupy this circle
that has borne
without complaint,
the weight of generations
every member
who has entered this place
with announcements
of savoury temptations
pungent smell of onions,
and the sizzling sound of hot oil
leaping over cornmeal dumplings
in an iron frying pot

inside my grandmother’s kitchen
where I go
for food, sometimes
but always, for another story,
another tale, of things
she has carried in her head
for many seasons
and October rains,
things I will know
only, by the words of her mouth.