Ragoût de Julies Fluers

The first holiday on our own.
Stopping for just a moment.

Papa is tending Mama's beautiful flowers.

"On the kitchen table, love"

Mama gestures toward the ancient tattered cookbook, propped casually against an empty baby carrier.
Grasping the book, fully present, I watch Papa lovingly layer filler into a flowerpot:

Soft discarded onesie, little stuffed frog,
uncapped nursery bottle, its partially curdled contents
splash white to pink revealing the tiny organs and offal freshly worked into the soil.

The aroma of Mama's stew overwhelms me with intense, delectable memories.

I'm so excited for us to get started.

Originally Submitted Under Pseudonym: Joshua Maycome