"How to Make a Meat Loaf" by Vicki Iorio
A poem
How to Make a Meat Loaf My mother put her hands deep into the red Pyrex bowl, deep into the red ground beef. She taught me her cooking secrets before age or Covid took her. I didn’t touch the meat with my hands, swished it around with a wooden spoon. She called me a wimp, you don’t mind eating it. She kept old ketchup bottles mixed with her magic— Worcestershire sauce, mustard, bread crumbs; formed the meat into a loaf, told me to pre-heat. Outside her Florida kitchen, the palm trees danced like blow up figures advertising oil changes on Route 44. She bought this Pyrex bowl in 1950 soon after my sister was born. Next time we cooked, she made her stew, scoured the potatoes in the Pyrex like her life depended on it and maybe it did. I bubble wrapped this red bowl after the pandemic, moved back to NY, became a vegetarian. I scrub my vegetables in the red Pyrex bowl like my life depends on it.
About the poet:
Vicki Iorio is the author of the poetry collections Poems from the Dirty Couch, Local Gems Press, Not Sorry, Alien Buddha Press and the chapbooks Send Me a Letter, dancinggirlpress and Something Fishy, Finishing Line Press, The Blabbermouth. Alien Buddha Press. Her poetry has appeared in numerous print and on-line journals including The Painted Bride Quarterly, Rattle, poets respond on line, The Fem Lit Magazine, and The American Journal of Poetry. When Vicki is not writing poems she is either on her Peloton bike or drinking a crisp white wine.