She wakes up like an early bird at five to get our family going
No, no, she doesn’t get ready for herself but prepares our meals first
My momma slides the buttermilk pancake mix out of our small pantry
Puff, puff, the cloud of flour rises out the package as it opened with a pop
Like she memorized the recipe, she cracks an egg
Pours the perfect amount of the mix
And pours the water on top
Making the top crumble from the heaviness of the liquid
Whip, whip, she takes out her whisk and gracefully stirs the thick batter
She grabs a ladle and scoops the batter and drips it onto the hot pan greasy with oil
Yes, yes, the right consistency makes the pancake rise fluffily and moist
Satisfied she flips it like no big deal and like a penny
The other side turns to a nice shade of warm umber
Flop, flop, three pancakes slide smoothly onto my mother’s favorite ceramic plate
Slides a thin sheet of butter and squeezes the maple syrup bottle from Trader Joe’s
Ooze, ooze, the syrup heavy, as if full of burdens and pains, slimes the whole pancake
A pancake seems like nothing
But if it is
Made with love
It is the best pancake a momma can make
Thanks, momma.