Baked to Memory (NaPoWriMo 3 of 30)

Alabama heat sweltering The steady clack clack clack of peas hitting aluminum pans Fly swatter in hand Slippers patting carpeted floors Glasses held in place by facial features as soap operas play on old TV screens An undeniable smell drifting through the house The sweetness of freshly shifted flour combined with milk, sugar, vanilla, butter, and other various ingredients Smells like home The other one Away from concrete city slabs Blocks filled with danger on every corner Monsters always right within reach Where everything smelt like trouble Felt like danger But tucked 1076 miles away was a safe space for parents to send young malleable minds To be molded into something strong enough to withstand the pains of a brick city future Where tea was sun brewed Where the night actually had a sky The sound of the ceiling fan whirling 90 degree heat Kool-Aid pops in the freezer Smells like I remember Those lessons she fought so hard to teach I fought so hard to forget Wasn’t much interested in listening She was too old, I was much too young Generations makes differences A woman grows old but she must always remain a lady     Not every shut eye is sleeping     I’ve been around the teacup and know where the handle is     Anythang worth having is worth working hard to keep But she never did say how hard Or when the difference between fighting to keep and simply fighting began What about saving for the future and how do you know when to walk away What about those days when only tears will come or when friends turn out to be everything but who they said they were So much to learn Too little left to give I remember The smell of her teaching me how to live, love, grow, feel, believe, and achieve over homemade cakes and freshly rolled cobbler I still cannot knead dough to the right consistency Never took the time to observe the level cutting of it into dumplings I seem to have taken way too much advantage of time Reckoned the smell of German chocolate cakes would arrive every Christmas The nutmeg of candied yams simmering across countless meals Who knew that smells held goodbyes just as much as hello’s Who knew on any given day a moment would be recalled and you would remember exactly what it smelt like

©Nykieria Chaney 2014

National Poetry Writing Month 2014

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© 2017 Nykieria Chaney