Through this shared language, seen in the celebration of Shabbat at our round dinner table, we create a “home”, a space of belonging, for a culture that has frequently been forcefully ripped from its physical roots.
I am 12 years old, looking over the precast-cement fence of my neighbour’s house in Chatsworth, South Africa.
For a while I would obsess over how I could make my London plot look less like itself and more like the one I’d walked through as a child on summer holidays.
Reheating Leftovers And there you wereletting the world know you’d betemporarily unavailableagainthinking, All I can do now iswait for the clocks to tickhalf past six because thenthe door is opened andstays open untilthe blood has been takenout of the bodiesgiven a brief stirput back in or your hate of the present brings you to the…
Tiffin clangs like bells,
collapses as it climbs,
tiffin holds okra, paneer,
sambar, and lemon rice.
The first important thing in making fermented cabbage is to choose a good cabbage head.
my father wanted to recreate the grapes
grow his own over our tiny backyard in the suburbs just outside the city
his vision was three separate plants,
arching and twisting their vines from our neighbor’s garage to ours
and what does it mean
that her blood still sings
through the Old Quarter
of my veins?
I’ve tried planting potatoes since you left,
but they never grow the way they did for you.
Those are some peoples’ stories, some peoples’ histories, but they aren’t ours.
I was born in the eye of a koláček––
my jelly center plucked from the trees
in my grandparents’ backyard
In the Turkish supermarket, you search through baby peaches and it makes me feel closer to you.