My family is a freshly baked Sicilian lasagna,
Together, with our unique characteristics, we create a bond to remind people of home and unity,
Dad is the horizontal, frill-edged, eggy pasta,
The simple, insipid building blocks of the family, yet a vital piece.
Mom is the burnt, yet essential tomato paste,
Worked so hard that she is spread thinly over the family, that burns her out, but the family would fall apart without her,
My sister is the browning, bubbling, salty pecorino romano cheese atop the lasagna,
Always the first thing seen when our family is looked at looks gorgeous, but her attitude can get salty, resulting in some indigestion,
My other sister is the crisp, nutritious, and filling veggies,
Not always the first noticed, but fresh with possibility and importance who fills in the absent pieces of the rest of the family,
I am the freshly torn herbs that create aroma,
I am not seen as the most significant part of my family, but I am a bit of flavor, the spice of my family’s life as I bind my them together, completing my family.