the enormous iron skillet

the cast

iron

skillet is beyond heavy.

it bends

my wrist

without

anything in it.

it's impossible to clean,

to scour

the rust out of it,

to store

in the cupboard,

but it was

passed

down

by my grandmother

on my mother's

side

of her family.

the Orsinis, so it's

an heirloom of sorts,

i guess.

i remember her

scrambling

eggs in it,

frying bacon and scrapple,

making a red sauce

for linguini,

with mushrooms

and sausage.

i'll find a place

for it

somewhere

eventually. i'll

hammer

a large nail into

the basement

cinder block walls,

and let it hang there,

finally

free of tallow

and grease.