Words by Hiwot Adilow
there’s a cafe on chestnut street
named after the kingdom that holds
both sides of my family.
i wash my hands in kaffa’s bathroom
before finding my way back home
dad’s house once flooded
with a spicy air. mom,
still in his kitchen, covered
her hair to keep from
catching the tackling scents
of shinquirt & gomen—
the onions have burned me to tears.
i shut my eyes & cry my way back home,
into my grandmother’s kitchen.
she sits, gabi around her shoulders,
rocking as the stew simmers done.
in my dreams we eat from one plate,
practicing the art of gursha.
we beg love to eat from our fingertips.
Hiwot Adilow is a writer, among other things. Catch a sneak preview of her unabridged journals here.
To go to the cafe on Chestnut Street, click here for details