Old Recipe

A Poem by David Pew

a poem about tradition and the comfort found within

passed down from
my grandparents
to my parents
to me

I saw it
sizzle
and boil
and bake
into beautiful
vibrant colors
as it was laid out before me.

it was a lie
but a lovely one.

and I make it for myself
from time to time -
assuming I have the
right ingredients.

a tall mountain
a light in the dark
an old song
a story in my ear.

and there it is
made just for me:

beautiful
and
empty.

I smile
and bite in.

I've missed you.