A Recipe

After a decade of take out
I had three cooking lessons
to unlock the mystery of
Indian food.

I held the salt in my hand
to feel the weight
tried to replicate the
heft of mustard seed
in the crook of my palm.
I hoped the voices of
Indian aunties would
whisper secrets
passed through generations
reaching across the continents
floating into my slick kitchen
breaking through the modern hum
of the silver dishwasher.

I want stories from
across the ocean
from the dusty fires
and the banks of the Ganges
I want the ancient pot
and the mortar and pestle
dented and nicked.
This is the magic I need
added to my airtight
tupperware and shiny steel pot.

I will never have this.

But I can reach a fingertip
across the geography of the world
and learn the taste
of one small village.
I'll carry it home
like buried treasure.