So many years,
These hands, now old,
Have worked at the table,
kneading and rolling dough,
Testing texture,
Adding raisins,
Walnuts,
Sugar,
Sprinkling cinnamon.

Warming the oven,
Waiting for the dough
To rise,
Sliding trays onto hot racks,
Marking time....

She sits on her walker's chair
Looks up into the camera
"Oh, don't take my picture!"
But how can we not?
Adding these images
To the memories,
To the moment.

The scent of baking bread,
Cinnamon,
Raisins,
Fills the room,
With 40 years' remembering...
Time stops,
Time reverses.

The ones who stopped in...
Dad,
Brother,
Sister,
Gram,
Hired Men,
Grandchildren,
Neighbors passing by...
Some now long gone...
After all, they were
Only stopping in...

"To grab a bite"
On their way to the barn,
On their way by the farm,
On their way to fields,
On their way to the phone,
On their way to town...,
But really to stop
For cinnamon, raisins, walnuts
Twisted into fresh, hot bread,
And a cool glass of milk.

I scrubbed away at their plates
I need new forks and knives
I tore up the white carpet
that was made to be stained
that once kept me occupied and distracted
The mess had me wasting my time
My arms reaching for more than this design
For now I've come to see
that this is not my destiny
I am far from a 50's house wife
No matter how much I was denied
By my own doing or theirs
I will rise and bare a new name
I aim to gain
I want to build
yet I fear I'll be killed by my own tools
If like me they recognize

Mom,

The lilacs are blooming now.
I remember how you loved them,
How the Avon lady sold you lilac spray
To make your lavender bedroom come alive,
The sweet scent of May in January.

I breathe these lilacs in, and you appear, Verna May.
Springtime is alive again with you.

2023