Thinking of You, Hayley – Blog 107 – by Ms Paige Turner
Bread Pudding Days
On soggy days
when the rain spits
my mother’s house is filled
with the warmth of cinnamon sticks,
rich dried fruit
and softly sifted sugar.
She folds and wraps our words:
– the bargain cost of my orange gloves
– the price we paid for our lost loves
– our woeful tales of wicked hate
– our splendid plans to be great.
All are measured, sieved, considered
for their mixed worth
baked into something sturdy,
crusty, spongy and deeply palatable.
And in that cooking fragrance
– the weight and varied textures
touching half remembered edges –
my mother’s syllables and smiles stretch on:
a balm against the greying bits,
a refuge against the rain which spits.
For Muriel – 10.6.22. – 14.2.01.
No places left on Creative Ink for Writers’ summer courses.
News coming soon of day workshops.
No blog last bi-month due to mountain fires.
Happy Mother’s Day, Hayley. You’re one of the best I know.
Well observed. A delight for Mother’s Day … or is it Mothers’ Day? It could be both. I like ‘touching half remembered edges’.