Homemade Memories Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Sweet scents of rhythmic blues play upon my heart,
touching ivories of my mind.
Deliciously melting barriers of past memories of
Mom, baking bread for us.
Wonderful images of bread, coming out of the oven -
immediately being buttered and put into our mouths.
Thoughtful flavors of a dedicated Mother doing her
best to feed her children without much money to do
so.
Pizzas, homemade, were gone minutes after taking
them out of a hot oven, sating our childish appetites
with love from Mom's beautiful heart.
Speengees were reserved for when we had nothing left
to eat, but flour, water and baking soda - fried in
oil - tasting like heaven.
We never knew their reason, we thought we were being
treated to an extra-special dinner because we'd been
so good.