Angry Bread

Her spoons were wooden,
her whisk: a fork, four-tined and
stainless. 
No microplane to zest her citrus and

nothing more than a paring knife
to peel and core autumn's apples

or pears and summer's plums

and nectarines.
Her bacon press: a #2 can atop a dinner plate;
her bread machine: gnarled hands,
mixing and kneading,
and kneading again.

 

And so today I, too, measure water and flour
in a drinking glass; sprinkle yeast
from a long-handled iced tea spoon

and mix with my hands
when the dough becomes stiff.
I set it to rise in her wooden bowl,
a bowl older than I,
and wonder if it will taste as good;

wonder, as I work the dough,

if her tears, too, were a reminder

of forgotten salt;
wonder who she imagined as
she pounded and kneaded,
and pounded, again.

 

Reviews

[Abhra]

This is indeed a beautiful poem. It is a tribute, an ode if you will. Remembering people through the daily and mundane. Through time they turn out to be the most beautiful memories we have of someone and that comes through your writing. loved reading it.

[Kelly Rainwater]

I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to find your reviews. I've been going through cancer treatments and haven't been online much. It's a pleasure finding your comments here, though. Thank you for taking the time to read what I've posted. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

[Shimmerbliss/CAF]

This was posted a long time ago, but somehow I stumbled onto it. Just want you to know that this is a wonderful poem. It held such meaning for me. It is an unusual theme to see here, but I have often wondered about the past as use many of my mother's and grandmother's things.

[Kelly Rainwater]

As I said to Abhra above, I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get to your comments. Thank you so much for reading. I'm glad you liked this. As you mentioned, our past is more often than not mingled with our present, even in the simplist of ways. Thank you, again for reading!