A Poem a Day (268): Baking with nan

 

Baking with nan

 

Nan passes me the rolling pin, caked again

with dollops of creamy mush. Gooey sticking

elastic lines circle the stripy bowl’s pink insides,

the peeling pastry breathes out, running rings

for my warm stubby fingers to trace and avail.

I’m too small to reach the wooden table top,

so I stand tall on a two-stepped safety stool,

smart in my blue bear pinny, sleeves back,

rolled as I ought, professional, arms powdered

with flour, some flying into my yellow curls,

turning me prematurely grey. She laughs loud

and it echoes all around, purple rinse bobbing.

Some prize seeks the secret bowels of the oven

and the malty warmth explodes out, small hands

diving around the kitchen, spilling into corners,

until this gusty tang of gingerbread cloaks it all.

 

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, October 1, 2020