By Joan Kantor
Sarasota Branch
for my mother, Miriam Gants 1918-2012),
who so joyfully shared her kitchen with me
My mother’s been waiting for me
to open the narrow drawer beside the stove,
where smiling with anticipation,
I reach for the dingy-pink-metal measuring spoons
that once were hers.
They clatter and clink,
till firmly cradled in my hands,
they radiate a warmth
that rushes through me.
As the passage of time disappears,
she and I silently begin to converse
and proceed with preparations
for a meal she’ll never share.
She’d like me to use
her crusty-black cast iron pan,
but I’m saving its heft
for the day those tiny spoons
will no longer be enough
to stir her up.
Thank you. Your poem stirred so happy memories….and thoughts of the cut glass candy dish, treasured by the grandmother I never knew, that holds red and green “kisses” at Christmastime.
this is a gentle, sentimental poem that touched me, as today I’m baking the caraway, onion rye bread my mother always made. I have the original recipe my mother-in-law gave me for Date Cake, which I have made every year for my husband’s birthday (53 years ) and I am chatting with those two women who are now gone. Nostalgic .
I really loved this poem, as one who feels a strong connection to my mama through cooking and food. Thanks for this gift!
Brought tears to my eyes. So beautiful!
I have my grandmother’s iron skillet.
Thank you!