In Which My Mother
Teaches Me
BY Claire Scott
I would like to write a poem
About how my mother taught me to cook. How she tied a red checkered apron around my waist, Patted my curls and put her special recipe For angel food cake on the counter and off we went Sifting and measuring. She taught me how to crack eggs Separating whites from yolks. She guided My hand with her steady one, folding The flour and sugar into the stiff egg whites, Saying it was like angels folding clouds. But that is not what happened. No apron, no patted curls. My mother mostly Watched me, sipping from an endless glass of scotch. She yelled dumb fool when I spilled the sugar. Her hands shook while she cracked an egg, Dropping yolk into the whites. She stormed Out of the kitchen yelling I was too stupid To teach. I heard her bedroom door slam. There was no angel food cake that day. I played Pretend with my dolls, dressing them in wings. Today I show my daughter. We move slowly, taking our time. Soft rain spatters on the kitchen windows. She cracks an egg and shells fall into the whites. Oops, we laugh and start again. We measure And whip and fold, spooning batter into the tube pan From twenty years ago. I tell her we must be quiet And not peek for forty minutes. We play go fish. The cake is perfect she says, looking proud. I see an angel in front of me. I know she will rise. |
Claire Scott is an award-winning poet who has received multiple Pushcart Prize nominations. Her work has appeared in the Atlanta Review, Bellevue Literary Review, New Ohio Review, Enizagam and The Healing Muse among others. Claire is the author of Waiting to be Called and Until I Couldn't. She is the co-author of Unfolding in Light: A Sisters' Journey in Photography and Poetry.
