Flour

Flour’s in my candles
Wipe the kitchen down
Dusty piles of powder
Blowin’ all around

Ne’er thought I’d find all
That sifted, white ground
From drawer to floor
Floatin’ into mounds

But there it lived in
Every tiny crack
Chasin’ the day’s work
Breakin’ mama’s back

Pies and fresh pastries
Sweet raspberry tarts
Takes a lot of flour
And lots of false starts

Ain’t easy bakin’
Those cookies and cakes
Need a lil’ helper
For goodness sakes

Tie up his apron
Give him a good spoon
Young lad must learn
This cookin’ real soon

Flour goes a flyin’
Countertops to walls
Small fingers playin’
Makin’ castles tall

In between buildin’
Draw a shape or two
Learn to use a rollin’ pin
Pies for me and you

Smell the huckleberries
Picked right off the vine
Sprinkle ‘em with sugar
Add some brandy wine

Gentle with the crust, lad,
Crown must not fly high
Seal the edges now
Pinch, pinch, pinch the pie

Straight into the oven
Let’s all clap our hands
Flour rainin’ down
Formin’ mountains of sand

Forty minutes pass
Oven’s sweet perfume
Wafts throughout the house
Into every room

Timer wakes us all
Plates ready to go
The boy still plays
Apron fallin’ like snow

Thus my red candles
Got covered in white
Wouldn’t trade a speck
Of that wonderful sight!

–Victoria Emmons, copyright 2015

Sole Survivor

I am the sole guest
At my dinner table
No one to please
Save my own palate

The hour is late
As work takes over
On this holiday week
With no one to share

A Roomful of Blues
Plays Solid Jam
Awakening my soul
Soul of another kind

I scour cookbooks
For fresh recipes
Savor Gouda and gherkins
With a vodka chase

My kitchen dance begins
10 o’clock piano jazz
And smooth lyrics
To hide my fears

Let me love you, baby
He repeats throughout
A tune that will fade
As love fades, too, after a while

Butter sizzles in the pan
Hot pools of taste
Wait for the main dish
Washed and patted dry

Flour encases the fillets
Protects them from harm
Wish it were so easy
To protect me, too

Wrapped in flour
Browned and moist
Seasoned well over time
Sole Meunière survives

–Victoria Emmons,  Copyright 2014

Monday Night Promise

The doorbell never rings
As expected this Monday night
The steak is never grilled
Nor the wine poured

Baked potatoes are hot
Ready to devour with butter
And peas with lemon juice
Without the special guest

Anticipation nonetheless
Expectation and longing
Planning for days and
Preparation complete

Dress is selected
Pressed at the seams
Lipstick in place
Bouquet in a vase

The wait is endless
Count seconds on the clock
A Monday night promise
Tuesday morning tears