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Rated: E · Poetry · Family · #2049756
Awoke with memories of my aunt and had to write. Smart and humble woman.
What It Takes
July 19, 2015

She never put me at a table for kids.
My plate was on the lace tablecloth
with orange juice AND cowboy coffee.
She made me eggs and sausage and potatoes and gravy.
And toast with big melty splots of butter.
I ate all of it.
She always offered me MORE.
You would have thought I was a royal kid or something.
Her house smelled like Pledge and cooking,
never fake candles or perfumy spray.
There was nothing primpy in the bathroom either.
Aunt Frances had lots of friends,
But none she liked better than kids.

Every family event she fixed pinto beans and ham
with hot rolls.
Some of us ate another roll for dessert.

She was young when her husband died.
At night she made secret midnight visits to the cemetery.
A year had passed when he said, “Take it easy, Carly.”
It kept her going.
She raised three kids with nothing but bootstraps.

When I got a divorce she gave me her recipe for rolls.
The secret is in the details.

She never got any older, even when she was 90.
She pressed her blouses with spray starch
And drove a carload of old ladies to Sunday lunch.

Everybody loved her, said she gave good advice.
I asked her once how she knew what advice to give.
She said she always tried to figure out
Not what a person ought to do but what they wanted to do
And then advised them to do it, as if it were objective.
She understood that sometimes the things that make us sad
Also make us happy, and vice-versa.

Before her husband died, Aunt Frances wore matching
Handbags and shoes.
After, she went cheap and was perfectly fine with it.

She sent the wrong cards, but it was on purpose and
made you laugh every time.
On your 11th birthday, maybe you got a card that said,
Happy 50th Anniversary or Get Well Soon.
If you had your appendix out, she’d probably send you a
Best Wishes at Your Graduation.
She was fond of Santa decorations at Halloween,
witches at Christmas.

She always sort of knew what it took, I guess.

Dough rises in my kitchen. The kids will be here soon.
My turn now to finesse a legacy of hot rolls and bootstraps.
© Copyright 2015 Mizz Jones (boza at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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