We drove down the Avenue,

the one that captured memories of yesterday,

and ogled transformations of the familiar

New faces and new places now called this place home



Making our way down the crowded street,

a staple of my childhood appeared on the horizon,

that old Italian bakery and small café still on the corner

near the house where my father was raised



As we, my mother and father, my sister and I,

crossed the threshold of that old store,

the aroma of sticky and sweet confections

overwhelmed my senses and I became

that five year old girl again



Trays of warm arancini and savory sausage and spinach scaciatta,

and rows of bread, the Sicilian Ring we always called “Grandpa’s Bread”

behind towers of brightly packaged pannetone, ready for Christmas

The young girl behind the counter patiently filled our orders

as we filled brown paper bags with samples of yesterday



Sfogliatelle, pasticiotti, and cannoli displayed in cases

across the room pulled us back to that other room of longer ago,

my grandmother’s kitchen on Sunday afternoons and

dessert enjoyed after plates of pasta, cutlets, and roasted peppers

If we were lucky, Jordan Almonds wrapped in small bags



A huge rum cake, ordered for my mother’s seventy-fifth birthday,

rounded out our purchases for the day and we turned to leave

I paused for a moment, with closed eyes and a happy heart

A visit to the old stomping grounds, an important reminder

of who we were when life was slower and more simple

always waiting to welcome you back with open arms





photo: mine