AN ODE TO MY MOTHER... AN ODE TO MY MOTHER AND ALL THE THINGS SHE COULDN'T AND STILL CANNOT DO I would have written of her sweet potato pie or her famous fried chicken But she has none I would have told you of her amazing collard greens or her secrete recipe for pound cake But it doesn’t exist My Mother, whom I love dearly, is a terrible cook The truth must be told While others were off having seconds and thirds I was still working on my first My Mother, whose knowledge spans many topics far and wide Does not encompass the spices past the basic four For she too, like I, was brought up by a terrible cook In truth, my mother just has no magic in her hands In all things, we have our limitations And my mothers’ hands are hers Her hands’ fumble as she tries tirelessly to bring my hair to a pass with braids and twist Her chicken prepared flawlessly And presented sweetly with rosemary still taste of nothing in every bite My beloved mother, with no magic in her hands, Makes the best oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, Just the way I like them. Straight out of the bag.
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