Bamba's Kitchen

(I know my folks have seen this poem, but this is for my dear sisters and Field cousins).

Perched upon the sticky red vinyl seat
elbows propped upon a steel topped table in my Bamba's eat-in kitchen
anticipating fun.

My white-cotton-candy haired german Grandma
spent hours teaching me to make hit your tongue-dissolve to deliciousness-Butter Cookies.

Butter, eggs, water, flour, sugar, baking soda, tsp vanilla
her simple ingredients, mixed with conversation
a priceless recipe.

Her talcum powder floats through the air
blending with sugar and rose water
pressed upon her neck each morning

Pressing dough into stars, canes, bells
talking, laughing
happy as could be

Lightly a hum flows from Bamba's lips
building into a song.
dusky soprano flies through the air

love lingers in the air
baking deeply into my skin
like sprinkles on cookies

BUZZZZ-
the kitchen timer hastens me to turn it off
so as not to interrupt the magic

In an instant a hesitant alto pops out of my mouth,
My head says no, my spirit cries go—
"there is beauty all around when there's love at home..."

While kneading dough
my grandma was kneading me
molding a different kind of recipe