Bonagameise
I was never sure what it meant,
but it was a loose translation
of my German-American grandmother’s
answer to feeding her family of 11 children.
A soup of green beans and spuds
from her garden, it was flavored by her laughter
and a nearly naked ham bone
rescued from the corner grocer.
The salty stew brewed all day
in a huge pot of water from the pump.
Spiced by her laughter,
it provided a satisfying supper
they ate “in shifts.”
Like a brood of chickens at a trough,
the youngest fed first, sliding
off a bench behind the table
when their bellies were full, making
space for the next in line.
The table wasn’t big enough
to seat them all at once.
by Gail Eisenhart
from Rattle #88, Summer 202
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