écrivain

i was seven years old-- a thin freckled thing
with long chicken legs and crooked teeth-- 
already confused and angry at the way the world was so cruel. 

i was nine years old, loud and energetic

The evening before Vappu, my grandmother would spend the entire night in the kitchen, kneading dough, slicing cabbage, and whisking batter-- all of this happening simultaneously as we drowned in spice-perfumed air, surrounded by piles of delicate