My Mother's Kitchen

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My Mother’s Kitchen

 

I’m in my mother’s kitchen

It’s a Monday afternoon

The oven’s heated up the air

The buns will be out soon

Everywhere there’s an aroma

Of cinnamon and spice

An apple pie sits on the table

I’m waiting for a slice

 

A black-leaded coal fire

Does it’s best to dominate

The heat and the smells

That the baking permeates

An old fridge hums in the corner

washing up drying by the sink

hot buttered scones to eat

and Ovaltine to drink

 

She turns to me and offers

The eggshell coloured bowl

Where the batter that produced the cakes

Has tested self-control

With a wooden spoon I scrape until

the empty bowl will gleam

then I sit and smile, contented

like the cat that got the cream

 

I’m in my mother’s kitchen

In the room inside my head

With the smells of Monday baking

Cakes and scones and buns and bread

And I smile again remembering

Those winter days so long ago

In a place of warmth and comfort

From the January snow

bakingchildhoodday 28kitchenmemorymothernapowrimo2020nostalgia

◄ Harsh Review

The Sunshine Is Ginger & White ►

Comments

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Ian Whiteley

Wed 29th Apr 2020 15:45

thanx Phillipa - glad you liked it ?

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Philippa Atkin

Wed 29th Apr 2020 15:08

Restful imagery Ian; I like it!

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Ian Whiteley

Wed 29th Apr 2020 14:07

thanks for the comments MC & Hannah
Glad you liked it Hannah and glad it brought back some good memories MC
Ian

<Deleted User> (18118)

Tue 28th Apr 2020 18:56

Wonderful warm poetry.

Hannah

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M.C. Newberry

Tue 28th Apr 2020 15:06

A nice piece of nostalgia easily evoking a different age. I readily
identified with the act of scraping the bowl of cake mix. Happy days!
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