Little Cakes with Jam
A page in the diary ""
Written by keller 6. May 2008 06:29 PM
Whilst the entire world comes in around me again I am still dealing with the tortures of my youth, the remembering the understanding. Appling new thinking to old thought patterns.
Over last weekend my son 12 (an avid chef) is searching though some old cookbooks (actually I tell him I am getting rid of what he doesn’t want, they are no use now) and what happens next was very difficult and surprising for me, I hope you get it, well actually I don’t really care if you get it because I wrote it for my self and my son.
It was a little self imposed therapy after loosing it today at the psychologists and scoring my worst score of deptest for months, I just am under a little pressure with the changes.
Thanks for reading.
Little cakes with Jam
Rummaging, rummaging stiff paper unfolds
“What’s this” says the excited voice of my twelve year old?
Describe it now son tell me what you see
He says “I am not sure but think its recipes”
Under a smooth left handed scroll
He describes heading and things I have heard before
It was my mothers I tell him a lilt in my voice
Her hand written notes her recipes of choice
He is intrigued by this masterful set
“You never speak much about your mum;
Do you want to forget?”
I close my eyes slowly now
For I have a choice
I can give him memories and emotion
It is now a choice
Where before I ran and shielded in fear
From events that took place year over year
And the anger I felt is leaving me now
The cradle stead fast not falling in the bough
So read to me now tell me what is there
Well a recipe for dumplings and for a cinnamon pear
And I ask him to search through this masterful set
And as I begin to ponder I remember more than I forget
My mind wonders blissfully to a one time event
The afternoon homewards from school I went
I discover the one that tells who I am
He reads it to me
“Little cakes with Jam”
And for a moment I am held in the guise of a young girl
Taking notice of a different thing within my small world
I craft a small smile as I remember what she had waiting
And what she was baking
In our small kitchen with a few blackened pans
I remember my mother baking
Little Cakes with Jam