two months and half a day later
we have three grocery sacks
filled with homemade breads,
a peach box filled with apple butter jars,
miniature bags of homemade candy
and an early Christmas gift
for everyone we know.
it could be more, it could be less.
sometimes i wonder if it will ever be enough.
i am better at this
just as you taught me
hand over hand
hand over arm
hand on hand
hand on arm
and now you?
calm as a summer breeze
in the midst of frigid temps
cradling them
in the layers of love
that were missing
from my childhood.
instead i’ll stand here
mashing my angst into potatoes
dicing up boiled eggs
slicing perfect candied yams
doing everything you taught me
and more.
the table is set.
the kitchen is spotless.
my children are loved.
and i should be so thankful
that i know how to do
all that i know how to do.
my pies are filled with
fresh cranberries
Colorado apples
King Arthur flour
pastry cream
fresh chilled butter
sinful sugar
decadent chocolate
and perfect recipes.
i wish i could fill these pies with the
muscles i took to pound them
time it took to bake them
dishes piled up in the sink
farmers’ market filled with apples
bog where they harvested cranberries
with the
ache that fits in between the
layers of fruit and cream
the ache that won’t escape
from the lattice-topped steam.
Recipe for a happy Monday:
one witty email,
four friends,
twenty-two minutes,
two-day work week,
one cranberry-fudge pie
with graham cracker crust and
homemade cinnamon whipped cream:
one culinary orgasm.
For those of you unversed in baking, this is all you need to know:
Don’t waste your money on cheap flour.
Scavenge magazine recipes like a hungry bear.
Talk to chefs. In person and in your dreams.
Surprise your coworkers at least once a week. It’ll make both of your days.
Never underestimate the delectability of pure butter.
A Kitchenaid standup mixer is God’s gift to the kitchen.
Balk at store-bought bakery items. Teach your children to balk as well.
Plan your birthday parties and holiday desserts months in advance.
Make everything that comes out of your oven a culinary orgasm.
Hershey’s Special Dark Cocoa and chocolate chips. Need I say more?
take me in
i’m surrounded
i give in
pink purple white balloons
pink red streamers
a Guinness cake
homemade pumpkin pie
take me in
take me in
for a day’s preparation
for a simple birthday celebration
six years old
and she wanted the beer cake
the pumpkin pie
small and special
for the actual day
take me in
because never in my childhood
did i spend a day
an entire weekend day
preparing for a party
that she’ll remember
small and simple
in her mind tomorrow
next year
the moment
she closes her eyes
for the last time
take me in
i’ll be there by her side
when she
opens her presents
welcomes her guests
plays her games
closes her eyes
and makes her wish
our wish
for that moment
that we could
all be six again.
it is recipe,
apple,
zucchini,
pumpkin
season.
the kitchen smells
like cinnamon
concocted with cream
and nutmeg, cloves
pungent with their
pinch in the pie,
spiced apple skins
and pumpkin shells
lining the counter tops
and floors,
sticky with sweetness,
sticky with sweat.
hours at the stove steaming
and prodding and pulling,
wafts of breads,
pumpkin glop,
pies perfectly rounded,
pot roast waiting
for the midday meal.
it is recipe,
apple,
pumpkin,
zucchini,
bread,
pie,
harvest
season.
some shop for the latest fashion
some shop for gems and jewels
i shop for the gems and jewels
of harvest,
choosing with a critical eye
only the latest, greatest styles:
heirloom potatoes
that melt in my mouth like
smooth cream,
zucchini longer than my forearm
to be chopped and diced
and catapulted into recipes,
red bell peppers to top
hand-tossed, homemade pizza,
tomatoes perfectly plump
to sauce up our lives,
peaches for pies and jams,
carrots (cheap and easy)
to fill the girls’ lunch sacks,
and apples.
apples of every variety,
their taste carrying me through the year,
their travels from the
western slope
filling my bag, basket, bushel
until i work with them
two days straight,
coring, cutting, cooking, canning,
jars of applesauce, apple butter
making the house smell
like a cinnamon dream,
lined up on the shelf:
the shiniest, most fashionable
gems and jewels
of golden red
to decorate my style.
it may seem simple and small
it is and it is not
what it lacks
what you cannot see
is a degree of superficiality
(tucked into corners, it pops out)
but the shining star of this show
goes into the rehearsal time.
hours of baking, dyeing, decorating,
hours of designing, painting, waterproofing,
hours of stitching, sewing, piecing
(hours of labor that brought her into the world)
hours of labor to bring her these gifts.
what you will not see
(that elsewhere you are blinded by)
is the degree of superficiality
that makes her party
(her day, her celebration,
her place on this earth)
so simple, so small, so perfect.
Day of no:
no bike
no hike
no long drive
no dining out
no mosquito bites
no missing cat
no naughty girls
no lakes
Day of yes:
yes, you can fish for the first time
yes, you can catch five
yes, you can take them home
yes, you can cut them up for dinner
yes, you can pour some of my beer in to cook them
yes, you can buy fresh peaches in June
yes, you can make this damn peach pie without losing it
yes, you can have an extra scoop of cherry ice cream
yes, you can climb down the bank to the creek bed
yes, you could live in Kentucky if you really, really tried
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