My Favorite Dish
In the kitchen my mother stands
Blue bowl in her work rough hands
The cracks and chips my fingers trace
Remembering the lines on her tired face
The bowl is full of memories sweet
Of her stirring up some special treat
If I could have just one little wish
We would stand together with her dish
Stirring up some breakfast batter
The room filled with our girlish chatter
The old blue bowl is with me still
In a place of honor on my window sill
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2012
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