Running dough

I am making pierogis today

Like my nana used to bake

With her apron on, I am lighting the stove

‘Let your dough rise in warmth,’ she would warn

I didn’t care for my parents’ broken home

Or my mom’s romance with wine made in Rome

When nana was around, I wasn’t alone

Once nana called to show the ‘running dough’

I knew it: nana was a witch with a cat named Ron

She was born in the times foregone

Finally,some magic for me to brag on;

But it was just a bowl, overflown with gooey dough

-which desired to break free from its form.

Falsely intrigued I watched nana

punch it back into its mold.

Years later when I am done

Playing dumb in this imaginary fun

Nana’s kitchen is where I run

White wine is my lucky charm

Dough can’t escape the fate

Dough can’t run