Baking Bread and Two Mom's

Using bread pans old and new,

I bake warm, fragrant bread.

Catching a glimpse her,

my hands turn and knead

soft, pliable bread dough.

Memories of the farm kitchen

tall windows on all sides

spreading summer sun

like butter on warm bread.

The bread rises.

A wonderful, aromatic reminder of her.

Written in memory of my mother, Marion.

Susan M. Ward   2004

Using bread pans old and new,

I bake warm fragrant bread.

My 'second' mom watched as

my hands clumsily punched air from

soft, pliable bread dough.

Her lovely laughing voice echoes gently,

'Use the heel of your hand. 

Make a quarter turn

and push down with 

the heel of your hand again'.

The bread dough grows smooth and elastic 

to this magic rhythm 

The kneaded loaves rise obediently.

Memories of kitchen table coffee visits,

baking bread filling the kitchen with

A wonderful aromatic reminder of her.

Written in memory of my mother in law, Olga

Susan M. Ward

2012

“You are the butter to my bread, and the breath to my life.”

~ Julia Child