Recipes-III

 Here is one more poem in a series about my mother.

Recipes-III

Mom sliced apples into a pie,

added sugar, cinnamon and butter by rote,

blotted her eyes and got on with crimping

                                                         the crust.

Concerns about my brother

              being kicked out of college

                                    latticed into the pastry.

Kneaded bread absorbed hassles

      over adolescent curfews,

           access to car keys.

She ruled in the kitchen. When Mom

wished to discuss curfew violations

or had concerns about our wanderings

she did so in her realm. Her patience

usually measured.

But once I saw her smack my sister

with a cookie sheet for talking back.

Cookbooks laced with recipes

and memoirs fascinated her.

A stockpot for emotions

               frowned upon as a child

                                  and stifled as an adult.

Her teardrops

             salting more than one batch

                                                  of brownies. 

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor