when we are together

my dad's hands gently coax shy dough balls he raised into imperfect circles they stretch glutinous strands reaching to hug the clockwise stir of my mom's chopsticks teaching her filling to bond low-sodium over sister spices of scallion and ginger massaging oil into a fragmented mix I introduce wrapper and meat binding two ancestors with a tender fold and screaming pinch blood, not water, holds these dumplings completing their plump embrace lovenuggets nestled together upon a bed of cabbage family, we are a.g.