The Recipe After Her

by The Quiet Voice

Original EveryPoem Studio house-voice poem.

The recipe says a handful, which was precise in her hands and impossible in mine. I call my sister. She remembers the color, not the quantity. We cook by argument, smell, and one stained photograph. The soup is not the same. We eat it anyway, missing our mother through every unfinished instruction.
52 words · 13 lines · Free Verse
missing motherrecipefamilyimageryunderstatementsymbolismfree-verse

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