Recipe – NaPoWriMo 2

This is our family cake
that marks our high days
and our holidays.

Mum still makes it, carelessly,
on autopilot;
my daughter, sternly,

Glaring at the kitchen scales,
frowning a little,
concentrating hard.

The knack of it has passed me by,
I’m not a baker:
half my cakes are jokes –

we tell them, laughing at the
cake that sank, or burnt,
or just never rose.

Still, it’s our family cake,
so I watch my girl
creaming the butter

weighing out flour and sugar;
my mother’s writing
a little wobbly,

spidering across the page:
now beat two large eggs,
now add vanilla.

This is the cake my daughter
will take on with her
when she moves away –

butter the cake tin, fold in
flour, a pinch of salt –
and maybe she will

watch her own daughter, or her
son, frown, read my
mother’s tottering hand,

cream butter, sugar, beat eggs,
weigh flour, add it in,
bake until golden.

NaPoWriMo offers us the prompt of “recipe”.


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