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.