I Still Don't Eat Casseroles

Even after almost two years, I still can't eat casseroles, which is a shame because Daniel loved them, and occasionally, so did my Dad.







All These Years After the Funeral

All these years after the funeral,
casseroles still taste like death.
Salted with tears,
layered with mournful noodles,
every bite is bitter with grief.

It isn’t that I didn’t appreciate
those acts of love
brought in hot and steaming,
bubbling with cheery cheese,
bright vegetables chopped like confetti
and ready to feed the children.

It isn’t that I meant to be rude
to good friends trying to help;
but I was an alien in my own kitchen
learning to decipher the recipe for sorrow,
attempting to elude panic simmering in my heart
while casseroles, cakes, and shivering Jello salads
gathered on the table like disease.

All these years after the funeral
my heartbreak has nearly healed
but my tastebuds are damaged forever.

Author of poem unknown to me.