“If we go back to Italy we’re taking all the food with us.”

~ Maria Manna-McCready

Smells and scents

on our walk, me and the dog,

the one after Jeopardy

Someone’s baking

cinnamon and butter with a splash of vanilla

In the morning the building smells homogenous

coffee roasts and gurgles from most windows

But in the evening we are

melting pots

Oils and meats wafting and waving from dinnertimes

around the globe

bulgogi, khorovats, harissa and ginger, ginseng and sesame

pasta, noodles, udon, phở and macaroni

undulating aromas of too many diasporas

it smells like my neighborhood

It smells like America.

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