Cabbage Rolls

My grandmother’s hands are a ghost
that guide my own while cooking;
that stop me from watching the pot
or pouring the pasta too early.
I can feel her in my kitchen walls
preparing crackers and cheese,
through me, when I’m hungry,
and fishing sweet pickles from the jar
with a fork.
I have not yet forgotten how to roll
the tender leaves of cabbage without
cracking their soft-boiled spines
even though it’s been years.
Grandmother, can you hear me?
It’s been too long, but still,
like you,
I stand over my oven to pray.