La Cocina
The aroma of garlic and onion
garlic and parsley
garlic and butter
garlic in everything, it’s the foundation
floods the walls, it soaks
into the teeth
the warmth of the kitchen
illuminates all the spaces
sitting in the heart of the house
the smell of garlic and onion
and parsley and butter
on the table now theres
a mountain of milanesas
a sea of smashed potatoes.
My mom doesn’t hug you.
My mom knows only one language
with the garlic, the onion, the parsley and the butter
she tells you all of the things that she can’t say.
Over the Table
There is something missing and
I’m not sure what it is.
There’s salad and french fries
there’s burgers and good beer.
I dare to say there is far too many options
the noise, the people, the songs are all the same.
The aroma passes you by
the disappointment: that’s not your plate!
Everything flows like it should but
there is something missing.
The check in front of your face
lets you know it’s time to go.
The waiters look at you now, anxious
you ate, you paid: the transaction is over.
There is something missing and I realize
when we stay seated, laughing and in between talks
That what they don’t have and don’t share
boils down to a simple word: sobremesa.
Agustina Van Thienen is poet from Buenos Aires, Argentina. She is a first-year MFA student at The New School and has been living in NYC for three years. Since moving countries her writing centers around language, displacement and adaptation. Her work has previously appeared in Papers Publishing.
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