love is the right thing to do

There is nothing special about lasagna.

Ricotta, mozzarella, tomato sauce, repeat.

When there were three we'd order it every Tuesday

place it on the kitchen counter

divide it amongst paper plates

sitting on newspaper

in front of dad’s laptop.

Nothing special.

Now you surprise us in the fall with blankets of lasagne atop pillows of ricotta/spinach mixtures

that I learn you layer with chopped mushrooms and something I forget

because I’ve only made it with you once.

Versus the once in 2019

that fed my roommates for weeks.

And the once every winter

that supplies us for dinner after lunch after dinner, layers of oregano and ricotta and spinach

that fills and satiates and eases us into a nap that feels like a dessert, because dreams become just as decadent.

Or the mysterious once, that lies dormant in the basement freezer, ready to be loved.

There is nothing special about lasagna.

About pasta and sauce and cheese. 

But there is something special about you.

About how you chop mushrooms and mix spinach into ricotta

or make two dressings in November

or two taco “meats”,

or JustEgg omelets,

or an entirely vegan casoullé for people you’ve only loved this decade.

Because love, to you, is closing pantry doors when you’re done,

rinsing dishes before putting them in the dishwasher.

Practical. Simple. The right thing to do.

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