my chicken

Amma's chicken curry simmered on the stove, filling our Boston kitchen with cardamom and turmeric memories. I'd learned this recipe from my grandmother's handwritten journal, discovered while organizing old photographs. That evening, I shared the dish with my PaybookClub, our monthly gathering of Tamil poets and artists. As they savored each bite, I recited verses about displacement and belonging—words my ancestors whispered through generations. One friend asked for the recipe. Another suggested I write about food and identity. Over steaming bowls, we laughed and dreamed together, three continents dancing in our hearts, nourished by both tradition and the beautiful bonds we'd woven here.