I know I haven’t been blogging much lately. Lots of things on my mind…lots on my list of things to do. Among other things, I’ve been making plans for the future…for when I become a grandmother. I’ve volunteered to provide daycare for my first grandchild three days a week when my daughter returns to work after her maternity is over. It’s been a long time since I cared for a wee one. I hope I have the stamina!
When I think of being a grandmother, I’m reminded of my maternal grandmother. As I wrote in my Poetry Friday post last week, I loved spending summer days at the home of my maternal grandparents. My Babci loved her six granddaughters—and she loved feeding her family. To her—food was love. I admit that I am much like my Babci in that way. I enjoy cooking and baking for both family and friends.
Here’s another of my memoir poems. It's about my Babci, rhubarb, and spending time with two of my cousins on a summer day:
by Elaine Magliaro
Rhubarb grows in a small patch
in a far corner of the yard
behind the brick fireplace.
When it is ready for picking,
Babci cuts the stalks and puts them in a basket.
In the kitchen, she snips off the large leaves,
trims the ends, and washes them.
We sit on the screened porch
dipping the tangy red rhubarb in sugar
and munching it till our jaws grow tired.
Babci chops the rest of the stalks
and cooks up a big pot of rhubarb sauce,
sweet and sour, thick as jam,
perfect for spooning over
Babci’s homemade bread
for a delicious summertime dessert.
Jone has the Poetry Friday Roundup at Check it Out.