What’s Missing

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Decided to bake some breakfast sweet bread
To eat when I finally crawl out of bed
Goes so good with coffee and cereal
Getting my day off to a start that’s real

Got out the dough…ingredients and all
The dough had risen // standing very tall
I split it open with knife and fingers
Filled it with nuts, butter, and cinnamon

I added some raisons // then pinched it shut
Greased the baking pan and cleaned up the nuts
Baked in the oven at 375
It looked so good as bread began to rise

Took it out of the oven just in time
I cut it open and it looked so fine
But when I tasted // something was missing
An ingredient lost in the mixing

Next morning at breakfast with jelly spread
Along with my coffee // ate the perfect bread
Something good had changed // nothing was missing
Can you guess what I forgot to put in?

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Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Amaya at d’Verse asked us to write a poem that involved a secret ingredient. With all the cooking and baking done over the holidays, many people have special thing s they make that are unique to them. The add that special something that makes it work.  In my poem I am doing the reverse. The question is what did I leave out that I should have put in?

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

 

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Mom’s Kitchen

Pop cutting Phils hairLittle Brother Phil getting a hair cut on the kitchen table

At my house growing up, the kitchen was the center of daily activity. It was barely big enough to house a stove, a fridge, a cabinet, and a table.  The kitchen was a hum with my mom cooking, canning, or baking. I loved licking chocolate off the spatula and beaters after she mixed up a cake.

In the winter, it became the laundromat, where underwear hung on a wooden rack. like spokes on a wheel. My mom and sister sprinkled clothes from the basement and placed them rolled up into the wicker basket to be ironed. The ironing board was set up in the hallway between rooms with steam hissing all morning long as they pressed the shirts, slacks, and dresses.

Off to the side was the pantry with a large porcelain sink and a tall set of cupboards for storing dry goods. I can still see my father cleaning chickens from our pen in that sink.  It was a grand time to be alive.

Sleet strikes window panes

Winter clothes pressed and hanging

Pressure cooker sings

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Photo from the family album

Today on d’Verse, Lillian asked us to write a haibun following the strictly traditional Japanese rules. It includes a short prose reading followed by a haiku that eludes to something seasonal.  She asked us to go back in our memory to the house we grew up in and pick a room to write about. I chose our family kitchen.

Come join us at: https://dversepoets.com