(with gratitude to Camay Murphy)
My grandmother put a little sugar in everything she cooked.
A teaspoon here, a pinch there, a whole cup in her apple pie.
And we ate everything.
And loved it.
I grew up to believe that all food was delicious,
that mealtime was never to be missed,
and because I knew that everything
my grandmother cooked was graced with love,
no matter what happened during the day,
dinner healed with its sweetness.
Every night I went to bed
with that taste in my mouth
and every morning I met the school bus,