Kitchen Time
By Rosemary Bergbauer Kaupp
2015
pouring milk over
crisp squares of bread
measuring sugar
white, a winter snow
my mother
deftly cracking eggs
smiling
at my eight-year old self
eggs joining sea of milk-soaked crusts
spices measured, like approval
rich and rare
swirling storm in glass bowl
transformed by heat
ambrosia
older now
familiarity my recipe
I tasted, something was missing
I put it down to old age
THE COUNTRY STORE
New England roads, winding lanes
Fall in line, where cows marched
And fields like mossy carpets
Made summer days, sing siren songs, to plays
A country store, the hub where
Neighbors came for warmth
And brought their troubles
Upright, tightly lidded
The door ajar, screened in Summer
Sieved heated conversations
That trickled out to lure
The child, new fish, within
Scent of sawdust, spice and brine
Frame memory
Of frugal life and faith
The bedrock
Of a new nation
Rosemary Kaupp