Dampness of dark earth,
roots unwind
freeing the cabbage,
placed in tightly held basket
that contains remnants
of last summer’s yield.
Knife descends
on kitchen table,
splicing in half
the cabbage’s life,
a small pot warms
ginger that nestles
by the red chili,
last pinch of salt
thrown in with hope
as ingredients pour
into grandmother’s clay pot
to be buried outside
beneath hills that overlook
her final resting place
viewing invisible boundaries.
The people wait
for summer to commence,
the pot will be opened
and life will consume
grains of happiness
adorned with spiced wonder,
united with love of family
and bounties of a shared land.
Adding your comment:
I could feel it and see it and smell the good cabbage cooking. 
LOVELY!
