by Tiffany Buck
Lord, this house is so quiet, I can hardly hear myself think
What is it about the silence that scares us so?
Maybe one of these days, I’ll have the answer
But today, all I got is an active mind, busy hands, and flour
I didn’t think her hand would turn cold so quickly after her soul flew off
The things nobody tells you
She taught me how to bake
Nothing special about that, all mothers at some point teach their daughters to bake
God don’t make mistakes, but I wish He’d tell me why He called my mama home the way He did
I could barely stand it, her lying in a hospital bed at the home
Her breathing, ragged
The last words she spoke, a mystery
Funny thing is, don’t think I want to know what she said
Page 530, I remember it like it was yesterday
Me standing on a wooden stool
Mama opening up the Joy of Cooking
Together, we’d make good ole fashioned chocolate chip cookies
It became almost a weekly ritual
Until she gave up flour of all things for Lent and never picked it up again
To be like mama, I gave it up too
Don’t plan on eating these things, probably throw them in the trash
I just miss my mama and the days we used to bake
Tiffany Buck is an avid reader and a sometimes poet who leaves near the shores of Lake Lanier. With deep Southern roots, her work tends to lean towards the gothic. She is a former librarian and book reviewer with Catholic Reads.
Has poetry helped you to process the pain of grief and loss? We welcome poetry and creative writing submissions!