Mama’s cookin’ in heaven


Mama’s cookin’ chicken cutlets in the kitchen
Poundin’ down the poultry to make it tasty
I call it elbow grease, but she’s always right
It’s love that makes them melt so good
Some cilantro, bread crumbs, eggs and canola
sizzling smells from her Sicilian cucina’s cibo
We’ll mangia in a minute, so non tocare niente
Piatte di pasta with papa and mama on the side and my nonni
I can’t wait for heaven


5 Responses to “Mama’s cookin’ in heaven”

  1. wally426 said

    If there’s one thing I associate with your apartment growing up, it’s that overwhelming smell of fried chicken cutlets eminating from the kitchen. They really did seem to melt…

  2. poeticgrin said

    Another poem that moves beyond the page. I can smell the cookin’… and I’m hungry. Food is love, man.

    A tip to get more readers – click on MY DASHBOARD and under USERS select YOUR PROFILE. In the section for CONTACT INFORMATION and in the text box for WEBSITE, put your blog website address. This will allow people to click on your name when you leave a comment and get to your site.

  3. poeticgrin said

    Just wanted to tell you that after I read your poem, that night I dreamed about mama’s chicken, for real. I could smell it and woke up with my mouth watering!

    • Vic said

      That’s great! Thanks for telling me. I wrote that when I was stuck in a car and reaaaaally hungry.

      Also, thanks for adding me to your blogroll. You rock.

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