For my Mother

5/9/11

For my Mother

Mother stands at the old stove,

Plain and black with twenty little red flames

Spewing from the bottom right corner.

Handling the bowl of pancake batter,

She expertly tilts the bowl

And the plain white batter cascades

Into the pan, over the stove.

She listens as the white liquid sizzles

Into a golden-brown crisp,

But nothing special –

We’ve been through this before.

Son sits at the old table.

Handling his pancake expertly,

He tilts the jar of jelly onto his plate

And dips the steaming pancake

Into the thick red pool.

He eats and listens as the next one sizzles

Into a careful brown,

But nothing special –

We’ve been through this before.

Mother comes to the table

And sits across from her son.

They play their favorite card game

Expertly and listen to every sound –

The subtle click of the card on the table,

The wonderful voice of another,

And the warm breath of laughter

Exhaling itself into the room.