POETRY

It is about time I do some baking, but I don't even have a hand mixer, let alone sugar, spice and everything nice. Or flour for that matter. That's what happens when you travel. So here's a poem in recognition of the word part of my blog. With any luck, I'll be baking with my mom this week. She is the banana bread queen of Wynmoor, Florida.

FOR MY MOTHER


Mommy sits at my breakfast bar
I see her reflection in the shiny black granite
That covers my new kitchen cabinets
She is small but her back is straight
She eats her food one bite at a time
The granite mommy does the same

I watch her as she gracefully eats
The good food we have prepared
There are fresh vegetables and
Little bowties like my father once wore
My heart is full of love and yearning
I want to take care of her forever

Stay here, I plead to the mommies
Who shake their heads in unison
Affirming their independence
Much the same as I once did