Grandfather's Memory: A Ballad
By Betsy, age 17, Idaho
She mixed together delicious nuts
The way her grandfather did
Walnuts, almond, hazelnuts, pine
Like she was taught as a kid
She remembered the way he'd said
"Nipote, ti amo!"
In his strong Italian accent
As he sampled the dough
"Bravo!"
Now she added the delicious bits
Into the nutty mix
Candied peel, raisins, cocoa, chocolate
Going by taste was the trick
Her tears fell into the mix
How she missed her nonno
Why did he have to leave her now?
Just when she needed him so?
The spices were next: this she knew
Cinnamon, nutmeg,
Coriander, pepper so strong
"Can we add more?" she'd beg
Her nonno was gentle, understanding
"Too spicy, nipote.
Let the gusto pieno shine through!
Always be careful," he'd say
Last she stirred in the honey, flour, fennel
The batter was ready
"Finito! Delizioso!"
Why was her hand not steady?
Now time for the chocolate glaze
After the cake was baked
She spread the chocolate on the cake
But oh, how her heart ached
They'd eaten this together
When it was Christmas time
From Emilia-Romagna
In Italy, in his prime
As she took the very first bite
From the recipe he had taught her
The tears entered her lonely eyes
And made her vision blur
Her cake was perfect, the way he loved
She remembered his wrinkly eyes
"Mi manchi, nonno," she whispered
Her head thrown up to the skies
She remembered the way he'd said
"Nipote, ti amo!"
In his strong Italian accent
As he sampled the dough
"Bravo!"
Bravo Nonno
Betsy's Notes: I originally wrote this poem for my British Literature class for the assignment to create a ballad. A ballad has a specific rhyme scheme: ABCB, and a specific syllabic scheme: 8-6-8-6. Ballads are usually in the third person, telling a story through the context of conversation. I would like to note that this poem is not related to me in any way - it was actually inspired by the recipe for "Spiced Italian Fruit Cake" in one of my sister's recipe books. However, I use baking as a sort of therapy; when my aunt passed away, I baked a cake in her memory, adding things to it that I knew she loved. Focusing my emotions into a productive activity, such as baking or art, helps me to understand and think over my feelings.
