My mother’s Mixer
Plop in the butter
Mash the bananas
Add sugar and honey
I pick up the mixer
Golden and brown
I watch the beaters
Go round and round
Spinning it all together
Weaving the pieces of life together
Memories of her standing in the kitchen
Making magic with the mixer
Liquid sweetness goes in the oven
Soft, moist, warm goodness comes out
Flour on the elbows, spoon in her hand
“Do you wanna clean the bowl?”
Better than gold, or diamonds
The spoon and bowl passing from her hands to mine
The greatest gift from her to me
If love can be baked, then I was loved.
She was quiet in the kitchen
Alone with her thoughts
Which I now see, must have been like a fairy tale for her.
A small electric mixer, eggs, milk, sugar and flour
In her pantry every day
Gave her comfort and peace
Her quiet, poise and gratitude
As she baked
Showed me that the ground we walk on
Is most beautiful, when covered with specs
Of spilled flour, and droplets of milk
Because that is evidence that we are using the gifts
God gives us.
