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Generations Apart

She was the only
Person I know
Who painted
Interior window trim
In high heels

Helping us now
Get our house ready
For renters
She has always seemed
Dressed up

Even in an apron

Back when I was five
She pretended to count
The chocolate chips
Warning me that there
Wouldn't be enough

To finish the last batch
If I kept sneaking them
I was there to help
Get her the waxed paper
Grease the cookies sheets

And lick the beaters

I just wish
She hadn't
Scraped the bowl
So very hard
With her wooden spoon

There was hardly
Anything left
For me
When she finally
Handed the bowl over

I could barely
See over the counter back then
To know what she was doing
Buzzing around her kitchen
Her high heels clicking

poem by Tom J. Mariani
Added by Poetry Lover
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