my aunty never told me what to do when he doesn’t love you back.
she did tell me to add melted butter to flour and mix with your hands until it feels like sand
my aunty never told me what to do when you want to crawl inside your own ribcage for protection.
add warm milk slowly
my aunty never told me what to do when he starts dating moniyaw iskwewak.
remember to always add a pinch of sugar
my aunty never told me what to do when moving on feels like regret.
mix the batter with your hands
my aunty never told me what to do when your love isn’t revolutionary.
remember to never over knead your dough
my aunty never drew me a map to find myself again.
if you over knead your dough, Sammy, it will get tough
my aunty never told me that you can get lost inside of another person.
heat the oil slowly
my aunty never told me that memories linger like ghosts in your bedroom.
if you heat the oil too fast, Sammy, it will smoke. you can’t use oil if it starts to smoke
my aunty never told me that the promise of something that never was will haunt you even after you’ve learned to live with most of the phantoms under your duvet.
we cut the dough like this so it cooks evenly
my aunty never told me that sometimes (often)vulnerability isn’t always an act of decolonization.
fry till light brown
my aunty never told me that our strongest form of resistance is saying “no”.
my aunty never told me that our survival depends on loving even after we have given all of ourselves away.
with butter or lard and honey
but she did tell me frogs dive deep to survive the winter.