Braciole

Published February 7, 2014 in Words We Women Write

By Joseph Bathanti

BracioleWith the cast iron claw

hammer – burnished

silver in endless

bouts of fire, forged
in Manfredonia,
Puglia,

by my blacksmith
grandfather, Paolo
Battiante, arrived

at Ellis Island
on the Luisiana,
out of the province

of Foggia, 1907,
where his name
was altered, like so many,

the hammer secreted
in his tunic –
my mother pounds

on butcher block
flank steak to temper,
then lays on each softened tongue

olive oil, garlic, parsley,
salt and pepper, before
trussing them into scrolls

bound with string
from Stagno’s Bakery,
and dropping them

into the incarnadine majesty
of the sauce to roil
the rest of our lives. Amen.

Advertisements

1 Comment

Filed under Uncategorized

One response to “Braciole

  1. I love the richness of this poem! Makes me think of Joel’s grandparents and their complex, emotional heritage. Beautiful! Thanks for sharing, Joseph.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s