Poetry: Apple Carrot Muffins

The same old silver grater, clear
glass bowl, dented wooden spoon used
to make round applesauce cake for
first birthdays 
made muffins for freshman and senior 
year. Instead of watching from your 
wooden high chair, bass boomed behind 
closed bedroom 
while green granny smith apples, bright 
orange carrots joined honey, oats, almond
flour for you. Another day of
beautiful childhood
before lovesick eyes not done soaking 
up all the wondrous firsts, seconds
of motherhood’s dance. Don’t blink they
tell you;

40 thoughts on “Poetry: Apple Carrot Muffins

  1. I have cooking utensils that my Mother used and I recall from my childhood. My adult son picked up a bowl of mine from the drainer the other day and said “I remember cooking with you and this” his expression was wistful, mine was too. Time passes so swiftly, I enjoyed this poem so much. Thanks Bridgette.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. A wonderfully delicious and poignant poem, Bridgette. I remember my Mum’s kitchen utensils too. This poem brought back happy memories of baking cakes, and apple and blackberry crumbles with her. I remember Mum having a gadget called a pastry blender with sharp metal wires on a wooden handle, and the wires break up the flour, butter and sugar into a crumble mix. I loved helping with that. I really enjoyed the yumminess of this poem. Thank you for sharing it. X 🌞

    Liked by 1 person

  3. SWOON! Don’t blink indeed 😭 it goes way too fast. What’s that old saying? The days are long but the years are short. So much honestly to that. Nikolai is turning 8 this December. 2 years until we hit double digits and 5 until I have a teenager on my hands. Make it stop.

    Liked by 1 person

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