we learned to make her pancakes
we watched her crack the eggs
mix the yogurt
sugar
flour
learned to drip the batter into
sizzling oil and
wait just long enough
before flipping them
over
the recipe was less numbers
and more feel-
her hands, so old and strong,
her eyes, erupting in color
from a fountainhead of wrinkled skin,
her breaths, measuring out the time
spent teaching us
i come home after a long day
to the tupperware on the top shelf
of the refrigerator,
that holy grail of her
sacred pancakes.
I bless them on the stove top,
giving them heat,
bringing her touch back to life.
I anoint them with
sour cream
and drown myself in her artistry
knowing that I learned
the recipe for a reason. one day
I will have to make them
for myself.
