Sugar comes back to our kitchen on Holy Saturdays after a forty day absence. It feeds the yeast that leavens the dough for our favorite Easter treat, Philadelphia Sticky Buns. My husband carefully kneads the rising dough and leaves it on a covered bowl to double. Then it will be kneaded again preparatory to a second rising.
While the dough rises, my husband prepares a bed of chopped pecans, corn syrup, and brown sugar in a pan to receive the sticky bun coils. When the dough is ready, our children fight over who will help their Daddy cut and roll the dough into little buns. Each will have a turn, each one’s concentration broken either by daddy’s admonition to put the bun right side up in the pan or by a child asking, “Is this alright, Daddy?” Soon the pan fills up with dough rolls distinguished by the age and skill of the hands that shaped them. After awhile, the aroma of baking bread, caramelizing sugar, and roasting pecans wafts out of the oven and fills every corner of our home.
A season to bloom the garden yielding its fruits heading to winter.
My arms knew music,
the feel of a violin
my fingers knew the places
where the notes sang well
My arms have forgotten
the weight of a violin
but know well the comforting feel
of a baby in their cradle
My fingers have forgotten
the melodies they played
but they have been quite adept
at eliciting childish giggles
Maybe one day
when the baby becomes a man
my hands will remember
the curves of a violin again.
In the blazing heat
of a Middle eastern sun
he toils for hours
away from his family -
young daughters and wife
loved from a distance.
Birthdays came and birthdays went
ten years had gone by
hugs and kisses were given
through their Facebook posts
accompanied by pictures
with happy faces
concealing their longing hearts.
Each bear the sadness
for dreams of a better life -
for the girls, now young women
providing simple pleasures
and good memories
as he can give from afar.
He waits and he works
his hopes in the desert sands
to be home at last
with virtual presence
each moment it's possible
'til no screen is between them.
Thanks to Gayle’s Dverse prompt – The Choka – I am glad to finally break a blogless spell. Lack of time (to think, writer, and visit blogs) and inspiration kept me away for weeks. I do not know how often I can post with school resuming and a needy baby starting to walk, but I hope to keep this page and friendships alive somehow. Ah, my belated wishes for a happy and wonderful new year to all of you.
The inspiration for this piece is a cousin who now works in Israel and has not visited his family for a long time. The title, OFW, means Overseas Filipino Worker which the Philippines, due to her economic situation, has plenty of.
Meanwhile, the Choka, according to Gayle, is a Japanese form poetry that tells a story. It has an indefinite number of lines but the lines alternate between 5 and 7 syllables. The poem ends with an extra seven syllable line. For more of Choka, please visit the link above.
We sow memories in a pumpkin field
while walking on the dirt to find the one
pumpkin – unblemished, round, hallow, and big
enough to carve into jack-o-lantern
We will put candles inside its belly
its face will glow and watch those passing by
with eyes ablaze with mischief; the pointy
teeth announcing the imp behind the smile
Imagination soared while little hands
picked and dropped a pumpkin one after the other
voices squealed with delight “look what I found!”
that moment of triumph, sweet and tender.
Little children trudge home bent by the load
of pumpkins and plans for the Halloween
yet, I swear, their very step seemed to float
upon memories this blessed time will bring.
He loved his baby brother at first sight in that hospital room where we waited for the family to visit. He held his brother with as much care as his two year old arms could give. He was fascinated by the tiny body squirming out of his lap.
How much fun they have growing up together. He teaches his baby brother all the skills a little boy
should know. The younger one learns quickly. They love playing with each other. They want to take a nap together. Sometimes, I let them. Often, I would sneak into their room to check if they did fall asleep and I would find them under the blanket wiggling and whispering to each other. How they giggled whenever I pulled the blanket to reveal their mischievous faces.
Of course, it is not all fun and roses with these two (and the other two who are not in the photos). They could bicker all day and tell on each other. They make each other cry and scream. Yet even then, I know that they love each other as deeply as only brothers can.
They wove violets and daisies on my hair saying, “You are quite beautiful and fair” what sweet words for the one who cleans their mess servant and queen, the life of a mother.
I am writing for Bjorn’s DVERSE’ promot – Rub’ai and Rubayiat. It’s been awhile since I participated in the Pub prompts. School has begun for us and now, I am teaching three children. In between, I still can tomatoes. The harvest has been quite plentiful this season that, so far, I have about 38 quarts of canned tomatoes, excluding the canned sauce and salsa I have made. I have been having a lot of productive time but it has been a little tiring, too.
Anyway, before this dissolves into a whine session, let me just wish you a Happy Friday and I’ll see your posts one way or the other. 🙂