The taste of losing you

losing you tastes of home-made marinara sauce,

the one i found in your freezer,

was it a week later?

we saved it, until we could no longer

in a box, hidden in a deep icy corner.

days passed, weeks turned to months

each numbered by your absence.

i took it out one day.

it thawed, slowly

it simmered, thickly

red tomatoes, oregano, garlic.

it poured, heavily

over three bowls of spaghetti.

we ate, in silent reverence, without appetite

our palates paralyzed, knowing

this would be our last taste of you.

i still search for you...

in every string of fettucini

in each slice of pizza

in countless d’amicos and casa piccolas and olive gardens

in paris and delhi and houston.

i think, perhaps, i can find you in my own kitchen,

chopping, blending, stirring,

like i’ve seen you do, a hundred times before.

i come close, sometimes, but never enough

knowing, this is the taste of losing you.