Anthony Lusardi

another reminder

a lot of times on sundays. when we had spaghetti and meatballs. there would be a lot of leftover tomato sauce. so we would cook more pasta. or chicken tenderloins for parm sandwiches. since it was a large pot—the same pot that grandma used—it would last more than a week. i didn’t mind if i just had bread slices to dip in. and during that week, there was always a small pot of basil in the kitchen window. always lasting longer than the leftovers. always keeping its pungent aroma even after it withered. 

rereading her death certificate—
my garden peppers
finally turning red

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About the Author

Anthony Lusardi lives in Rockaway, New Jersey. His poetry has appeared in Modern Haiku, The Cicada’s Cry, Frogpond, hedgerow, and bottle rockets. He has four haiku chapbooks, his latest titled raindrops from yesterday. Copies can be purchased by email at lusardi133@gmail.com.

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