As a poet, performer, and feast maker, my process moves across text, gesture, and object, centering the grammar of care, labor, tradition, and grief. When I think about how memory operates, I immediately think to the sensory, specifically, taste. My first memories of being cared for, and my first memories of violence, come back to taste memory. How do I re-learn nourishment and share that with who I love? What does it mean to nourish yourself and others in all aspects of that word? To feed and to be fed is an act of kindness at its core, in many ways it is erotic, it is also our most basic need. Whether this means the way we interact with an ingredient or the way we share in the bounty of labor, it is all a form of intimacy: an elemental gesture of tongues, of hands. In the ways that the recipe is alchemy for the body, it is a repetition of that alchemy that creates body memory. In the ways that we feed ourselves and others, over & over again, it is a translation of loving, and loving in communion. Together, we call forth, we call the body, we call the blood, we call back.