A Sip of Baileys in My Skull

“No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away…” ~ Terry Pratchett   

Wails are absent,
today. There’s Bachata music,
and stubborn tears
gloss my grin—
because I always grin

on February’s end,
when your voice spices
my memory,
when coconut milk simmers
with brown rice and pigeon peas,
under a bed of fresh plantain leaves
(because the original taste matters…
when crafting memory
back to life)
.

Wails are absent,
my heart.
But the cauldron is cooking
your favorite meal. And music,
oh yes…
there is music in my kitchen
and a sip of Baileys in my skull.

.
the wee notes…
– Today is the 3rd anniversary of my little brother’s death. I celebrate his life by cooking something he liked, listening to music he loved, remembering him as he was—flawed, generous, hilarious… a fantastic dancer with the superpower of smiles.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform, and to Prompt Nights ~ It’s in an old kitchen that the best food is made.

63 thoughts on “A Sip of Baileys in My Skull

  1. I remember when u commemoration from last year..The love and loss u feel are ever present.. A lot of memories in your words here…I am sure he’s smiling down on ya.

    • I think different people will remember different things. Of my grandmother, I remember her cooking, her habit of waking up before the sun to sweep the mango leaves, her pipe, her headscarf, the touch of her hands braiding my hair, her cackles… My little brother was the king of dance and quick smiles, and he loved my food… so I remember that of him. Of you, I will remember the layers. 🙂

  2. Beautiful remembrance, I bet he grins from ear to ear when he sees you celebrating him. Extra hugs for you today and be open to messages from beyond. I used to love Baileys in my coffee, I can smell it now!

    • I suspect you are correct. He is quite the grinner. 😀

      Baileys used to be my favorite drink. I used to have it with ice cream, since I preferred my coffee black with sugar. It was nice to share my yearly sip with the memory of my brother. And since I haven’t tasted it in a year, the taste was… a blast to the sense.

  3. Yes, “Wails are absent”, for The love, the music, the cooking – the sweet half of “bittersweet” remains. It is why it is the last half of the compound word. I like this tribute to him and the Pratchett quote id perfect.

  4. Amen sister … the ripples are still pregnant and distilling. I’m still holding vigil for my brother, poems evolve along the wave and sine of that fading memory. There’s power and healing here, amid the blood and tears.

  5. I am deeply touched by the poems your write each year to honour your brother’s memory.
    This is a wonderful piece. I love the way you have tied taste to memory.

    • I write about him quite a bit. But whatever I write on the anniversary of his death feels… closer for some reason, as if he is just over my shoulder, watching… and saying, “It’s dinner ready, mi brujita?”

  6. “(because the original taste matters…
    when crafting memory
    back to life)…” This is how dreams from the heart work, and work they do, to walk the bridge between what is gone and where we are. I love every line of this, Magaly, and I feel in it not just your brother’s smile, but your great love.

  7. I enjoy fried beans and bacon when I want to remember my Dad…every sunday morning he made it for me…even if i hadn’t gone to bed til 3am 🙂 * I raise a glass to both our special memories* XXX

  8. Yes this is a beautiful tribute to your brother. I think you must miss the tropics…its smells of weather and plants. It never leaves you. Bitter sweet poem.

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