Spoonful: A Gathering of Stone Soup Poets

An extension of Cambridge's Stone Soup Poetry Venue.

Poem by Yonit Bousany

Photo by Bill Perrault

in my grandparents’ house

sandwiched between boxes of cufflinks
pantyhose and silk scarves
I find my uncle’s retainer
forty years old it sits gums-up
naked but for its matchbox throne

downstairs I make raisin toast
my grandmother is seated amongst bags
of fortune cookies and soy sauce packets
piles of clipped coupons and a basket
of fake fruit where, in between the pear and
perhaps a plum, peek out the corners
of yearbook photographs
she says without turning,
that smells good
and I say,
can I make you some breakfast
she is eating matzah and asks me if
I am on a diet

we couldn’t find sheets so my mom
is sleeping on duvet covers
the bed in her room is made
and I ask her if she would like
to re-meet her childhood
she prefers her brother’s bed
leather suitcases piled at the foot
the whole room sepia but for
a violet cotton cover dropped carelessly
over a bare mattress, empty luggage

my grandmother is worried I will forget my toothbrush
in the pink bathroom she points to a clump of yellowed bristles
she says, you did last time
I say my uncle hasn’t come back for his retainer, either

downstairs it is 7:30 in the morning and we leave
for the ferry,
a box of matzah for the road