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A Shot at Myth Making
Poetry by Daniela Buccilli
 If someone taught you
how to make a sauce,
you’d be doomed too
to teach another.
We sisters, lit by a September sun,
oversee plopping
tomatoes that bleed
to a boil.
Olive oil, salt,
garlic, and basil
offer me a shot
at myth-making,
though it’s cheaper to buy a jar of the stuff.
May she remember me
as I do Zia Antoniella,
sugar’s one-legged
martyr, who lifted
her widowed back out
of a wheelchair
beside the white stove
to confront the heated oil
that snaps at water droplets
and forkless poke sizzling garlic cloves.
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