Walnut Muffins

You mix rice flour and cornmeal in a bowl,
add walnuts, sultanas,
cut baking paper. A goatherd passes outside
with his flock; the days are short.
You take a handful of dough,
place it into a makeshift foil cup.
I remember the furnace,
the white seats, the last days of her life.
I make a pot of tea;
the trees are shrouded in mist.
A loose thread on your jumper,
flour on the floor.
Your mother, now ash.
The tomatoes in her garden, the steep stairs.
You hand me a muffin,
tell me it has little taste,
that you forgot to add apple, cinnamon.
I taste the muffin;
it reminds me of the carrots we ate in Albania,
how they still had tops,
that we cooked them in our soup.
I sit by the window, watch a dog bark,
the goat bells gone.

Ion Corcos
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