The Spirit of a Loving Heart

Found tucked in Mom’s Cookbooks

The Legacy of a Baker's Heart

At 14 and full of me, I could be 
walking home from school on
a snowy cold winter day, 
not dressed for the weather 
in only a skirt and knee highs, with
a warm coat but no boots or a hat.

On opening the door to our home
I know it is Thursday with
apple pie 
cooling on the counter, 
meatloaf in the oven,
and a house that is toasty warm.

I don’t need a calendar 
to tell me the day because 
I know where I am 
by the smells from the oven
and the baking created the same
each day, in every week.

On Monday we will eat 
warm bread from the oven
leaving leftover dough
for the plump caramel rolls that
on Tuesday morning,
greet us like a warm hug.

Wednesday, we arrive
home for lunch
to eat a quick sandwich 
or a bowl of soup
and then dive into
a warm fried donut.

We know what Thursday brings,
and that takes us to
Friday when we eat
whatever cookie 
her baker’s heart desires,
or maybe the kitchen is closed. 

Oh, the weekend is special
as we wake Saturday morning, 
to watch cartoons, then line up
at the stove with plate in hand
to receive our grandma
pancake, the kiss of heaven.

Sunday may be a day of rest
but after church there is
a beef roast or fried chicken
with a mouthwatering desert
that could be my favorite,
German chocolate.

Mom, the baker
and so much more
but while she had to cook,
baking was in her soul, and
it is how she showered us
with love and her affection.

Cinnamon, flour, sugar,
and of course, oil, with fruit
and berries, chocolate, and 
vanilla creating so many smells that
I now appreciate and understand, filled
With love, in her own language, of the heart.

I was motivated to write this poem through d’verse, a site for poetry with a different challenge every week. This week was to write a poem about a food memory in verse style. Writing it not only warmed my heart but made me hungry! I carried on the pie making as did my sister who also marvels with her cakes and cookies. And always a holiday memory for me is mom walking in the door bearing all the baked goods.

What are your food memories?

The Vast Inner Landscape

Walking on the beach, I look up to see eighteen pelicans flying in a straight-line formation, heading north. Suddenly, the fifteenth breaks out and heads east over the Atlantic. Two behind begin to follow, then hesitate, think better of it, and maneuver their way back in line. The lone rogue pelican heads out over the…

Remembering Anhinga

After traveling for 33 days and nights my body and mind seek rest. Drink water. Sit still. Eat light. Remember, my dear, the Anhinga who, after diving for her food, rested on the branch, wings unfurled, letting herself air dry in the sun’s rays, watching the world around her, waiting in quiet confidence for all…

The Ocean

sounds of ocean roar on crystal beach — hearts in repose “She loves the serene brutality of the ocean, loves the electric power she felt with each breath of wet, briny air.”  Holly Black, Tithe “It is my favorite thing, I think, that I have ever seen. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it and…

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