A Mother Helps
Today I made the cake,
cradling the bowl.
Arm aching,
pulling at the fruit.
Her recipe in front, spidery and sherry stained.
And she was here.
I could feel her, smell her Christmas fragrance and
as my bicep burned she held the spoon and through it went
and she was gone.
Copyright © Timothy Kendall | Year Posted 2017
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