Angelina Hahn - Poem Short Writing With Concrete Images

Pasta   Angelina Hahn    Pour the flour on the counter; watch as the white clouds plume off the hard granite surface; I  have an urge to destroy the powdery mound and cover myself in a blanket of soft grain; she  catches my hands moments before disaster; w ​ e must be patient and calm​; she places my finger in  the center of the mound; we gently move our hands in circles; create a crater in the the tiny hill;  crack an egg; one; two; three; they settle in the center of the divet we created; three yolks  floating together like three orange suns; Great-Grandma begins to throw flour over the eggy  soup; the eggs disappear as they combine with the flour; Great-Grandma begins to fold and  knead with increasing force; ​that’s all you need, flour, eggs, and hard work​; now we roll out the  dough; first into tubes; then planks; then sheets; h​ old this​; r​ oll that​; We feed it through a tiny  machine; pasta goes in and pasta goes out; we roll and knead; we cut and shape; we fill and  stamp; the water bubbles on the stove; stories bubble up from the depths of my grandmother's  memories; my Great-Grandma explains where she learned to make pasta from;stories from her  past and childhood; stories passed down by word of mouth; now we pour our masterpieces into  the steaming pot; they boil; I wait; they boil more; I wait more; they are cooked; I still wait; my  grandmother carries the pot over to the sink; out they come; they concentrate in the round  metal bowl; this bowl had holes in it; the pasta is done and so are the stories; until next time;  until the next meal.