A homely instrument
tucked last minute
among more sophisticated remnants
of a whole delicious life
She’d touched
everything
I needed to be home
A granny fork to some
but it was my mother I saw, not hers,
magic wand steady between
slender fingers
Bent from doing what was not intended
worn from years of moving
in circles
Revolutions wound
around the bottom of a bowl
Past stirred into present, shaping futures
on bright yellow dishes
Casseroles, cornbread
pancakes, pie
tender eyes
Efficient and not prone
to fiddling with complicated
recipes - blend, taste, turn
Be who you are, make what you can,
share with someone
precious
like music, like prayer
Wonderful memories. I always feel my grandmother's spirit when I use her rolling pin.
I have my Dad's fork, tines slightly askew when used for other things unbeknownst to him. Reminds me of weekend breakfasts when he would give my mom some quiet time in the morning and make us pancakes and waffles and "Grampa Joe " eggs filled leftover mysterious things from the frig. She would decline to partake of these culinary experiments! Lovely and poignant memories! Thanks!