I never did learn to bake cookies,
not at nine-years-old,
not even at twenty-nine.
I didn’t squeeze dough,
stir it in the mixing bowl.
I had to look elsewhere
for molding, for smoothness,
an aroma to match
that whiff of butter and sugar,
to combine disparate ingredients
into something whole, tasty,
and my own.
It was someone else
toiling anxiously
but excitedly,
in the shadow of your long hair
concentrating on
both task and instruction,
as tiny hands concocted
smooth round balls
then rolled those treasures flat
on greased sheets,
made them ready
for the awaiting oven.
I was a baby then
but already the man
of the family.
It was my sister
who learned to be you.
I was tutored by a ghost.
ABOUT:
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Soundings East, Dalhousie Review, and Connecticut River Review. Latest book, “Leaves On Pages” is available through Amazon.
EDITOR'S SONG PAIRING
The Jungle Giants - Way Back When
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