~ Marlene McCarty ~

Cinnamon

Cinnamon dominates today, overriding
but not completely obscuring yesterday’s
lingering aromas; cloves, allspice, nutmeg,
and a jumble of others.
My nose and memory search to define, separate
and catalogue each sundry whiff.

She bustles about the hot, steamy kitchen,
eyes straying intermittently to the cuckoo on the wall,
measuring the seconds before his footsteps
clatter on the wooden steps.

Another peek into the black bowels of her oven,
the buns rising high and fragrant, crisscrossed
with love and a deft hand.
A wisp of damp hair escapes her house cap;
smudgy reminders of a thousand meals
dot the faded blue of her apron.
Never still, eyes forever flitting,
hands, forever smoothing,
straightening, and making ready.

I sit in the corner and watch,
unaware that this cinnamon day will
resurface again almost fifty years later,
unblemished by the passage of time.


Copyright 2003 Marlene McCarty


Marlene's website: Coastbard: Facts an' Fiction