"Basil" - January 19, 2021

I inhale, stepping one mud-covered boot through the screen door into the kitchen and my other boot hangs in midair, dropping dried mud like a mountaintop breaking off into the rushing waves below. Smells like the garden, a vegetal, earthy, flowery smell drifting out, curling the little hairs in my nose and settling there like a cat settling into a warm lap. The grating of stone against stone as the green leaves become a thick paste of Nonna’s olive oil, pressed in wicker-lick sheets by hand, and pine nuts. I watch as she grates parmesan down to the rind and pecorino, dancing onto the cutting board like the first snow. My heart, thumping fast, rings like the old rusted bell hung out on the porch, heavy on the overtones, but a little duller than usual. I feel saliva start to pool in the sides of my mouth and I realize my mouth is still open. She’s…