Keepsake

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