Hungarian Rhapsody

Hungarian Rhapsody

My grandma’s blessedness,
ever bib-aproned
poor, immigrant peasant
from far Hungarian village,
An Akron kitchen
became her kingdom.
She glowed here as if
arraigned in gold,
ruling with love
and good measure,
granting bountiful boons,
all delicious delicacies.
Her loyal minion gathered
‘round the centered table,
draped with a royal cape
of blue-and-white
checked oil cloth.
Mystifyingly she worked
her Magyar magic—
memories for her progeny.
Children of her only son
fell for her gypsy spell
one bite at a time.

No homeland treasures
save the divine dishes
created in her kitchen.
Exotic pleasures
perfect rhapsodies.
In her mother tongue
how they sing:
Magyar palacsinta,
cseresanye leves (hideg),
toltott kaposzta,
kepviselo fank
retes teszta (cseresnes, dios, turos, almas),
arany galuska,
kifli, kalacs (beigli)_
makos es dios
chicken paprikash

Fifty years have gone
Since my last savoring
Her sacred offerings.
They still mythically
linger on my lips
and heal my heart.
But Heaven feasts
My reward will be
Grandma’s glorious gifts
like gold from
her immigrant kitchen.
God, grant me
this one bliss!





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