Dedicated to my grandma, Maple. I miss her peach cobblers...
Remembering Her Kitchen
Peaches, but only from a canSugar, gritty like sand when its creamed between your molarsFlour, but the kind that needed siftingHer ingredients danced in the bowl beneath her handsPetite and strongher hands told a storyTheir wrinkles and lines held the sadness from her pastHer ring held her devotion to the man who loved her cobblerWhen I sat at her tablei’d hope it’s what we’d makeDelicious and warmit fed my soul with delight
Her Strawberries with sugarlayered like a pine cone in her old butter bowls A big butter bowljust for meMy tummy felt so full, yet somehow, I wanted more“That’s enough,” she said,“You can be too full of a good thing”She knew of good things nowbut sometimesi’d see a tear fall with just a name
I helped her make her dinnerHer love was the finishing touchWithout her wink and smilethe days at that table would have been so lonelyAdmittedly, I can feel that now
I watched her snap the green beans“Snap em’ in half,” she’d sayI wanted to do it just rightso one day I could grow up to be just as good of a cook as her
I miss her strawberries in those butter bowlsI still snap those beans in the middleAs I watch ”my ingredients dance beneath my handsmy finger wears the ring of her devotionI think back to her smile and her cobbler I whisper... “I hope I make it as good as you"
I helped her make her dinnerHer love was the finishing touchWithout her wink and smilethe days at that table would have been so lonelyAdmittedly, I can feel that now
I watched her snap the green beans“Snap em’ in half,” she’d sayI wanted to do it just rightso one day I could grow up to be just as good of a cook as her
I miss her strawberries in those butter bowlsI still snap those beans in the middleAs I watch ”my ingredients dance beneath my handsmy finger wears the ring of her devotionI think back to her smile and her cobbler I whisper... “I hope I make it as good as you"