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« watermelon p o e m. by Shelly Butcher | Main | The Beauty of Reading & Writing About Food. by Amanda Miller, guest blogger. »

06 July 2010

Comments

So poignant. A beautiful musing. Thank you for sharing.

heartbreaking, marvelous, thank you. also say hi to the captain's daughters' houses for me.

methinks you've written what the word remembering means, beautiful you.

It is a courageous woman indeed who dares to go home. Dares to find herself there, dares to stay. What a journey it has been, not unlike Dorothy and those damn shoes. I'm still finding my way, holding your hand, tighter in the dark. Love you.

This poem in which you reflect joy, pain, love, longing, and grief leaves me breathless.

my last trip home, to the ravaged eastern suburbs of new orleans with my late grandfather, to pick through the remains of my childhood home, was one of the most difficult trips i've made in my life.

and yet, it was ultimately satisfying, despite being amidst the billions of aspergillus spores and decaying body of the family cat...a final moment to remember, to relive a million polaroids in the blink of an eye, to find my grandfather's wwii discharge papers, and to achieve closure.

thank you for reminding me to remember the myriad gumbos, jambalayas, pastas, crawfish boils, biscuits, beignets po-boys and king cakes. and most of all, when standing knee-high next to my grandmother, being hefted up and helping to stir the roux, blending until it achieved that golden brown that i knew meant dinner was just a few hours away. i still feel her arms guiding me and hear her voice every time i step into my own hearth, and when i meet new friends online.

thank you! well met.

speechless. well done Shuna. I once had a place that evoked that same feeling- 30 years later still not gone back. too much pain & joy to confront there...

beautiful

Like the words. Funny that in the comments there is one from NOLA, where I now live, having left my home city ten years ago - it was long gone before I left, and when I drive back I cry when I first see it, missing too many, dozens I will always love, ache to see again. New Orleans is similar to the feel of my childhood, more comfortable, with an emphasis on friendship and food and of course, wine. Went through the flood time, lost some friends - that ache chasing me, knocking me down, knawing my neck. I've given up trying to hide, it follows us all, doesn't it?

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