June 2010


By: Molly Libbey


Black bean soup and baking of bread Never erase the troubled thoughts in my head My mother ill, my mother weak Of these fears I will never speak Days go by as I work and cook My passion once, now a thought mistook? What could I handle, what could I bake Without my mother I shall never make Those dreams I once held so dear Lay broken in pieces as they leer Illness and hospitals chords did replace The rosemary bread and her endless grace In the kitchen my mother was strong Is taking after her simply wrong? But “no” she says, she answers to me While she lays in the hospital bed sipping at tea “I pray for you son, so always make me proud, For I will be watching you from my cloud” So under her warm hazel gaze I will never allow my heart to laze I will stir this soup as her heartbeat stutters Until her voice never again even mutters For my mother I will cook and I will spread this love For my mother I know is in the sky floating like a dove.