Baking Day

A Mother and Daughter Share Something Special

Cross-legged and furrow-browed
Egg-shells cave on impact
Slimy deposits cling to little fingers
A grimace distorts her pretty face

Discarding shells, she takes up a whisk
Ingredients combine into a lumpy paste
“What colour eyes does God have, Mum?”
The woman turns, caught off guard

“I don’t know, darling. What do you think?”
A triumphant smile follows a frown. “Blue!”
Skits of goo shower the worktop
“All babies are born with blue eyes”

Cookbook abandoned, the woman stops
“And that’s God’s soul in the baby”
As quickly as the subject came, it left
“Can I put this in the tin?”

Pots, pans, tins and tools
Litter the small kitchen. The sink
Awash with sticky messes, soaking
In bubbles that have long since burst

The child licks her sticky fingers
“Why do you look so sad?”
A smile, designed to reassure, crosses the woman’s face
“I’m not sad, darling. Just thinking.”

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