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In My Father’s Now-and-Then Kitchen

(and backyard)

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My father could cook many things

Well, six things

The rest were disasters

Like shipwrecks on rocks

On waiting shores

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He could make—combine,

Stir, apply, bake—apple pie

He taught me how to have

Cheddar cheese with that

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He could make blackberry cobbler

Blackberries, maybe, because of

Growing up

In Olympia

Where there were

Berry trees and bushes in abundance

Real crust (back to the cobbler)

Made from many ingredients

The right amount of sweet and salt

To savor

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He could make bean soup

Ham and bone kept from another meal

Beans soaked for days

It seems

He might have made the cornbread

That came with it

Maybe my mom made that

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Have I got to six?

Well, he could grill adept

If maybe nothing challenging

The usual suburban fare

Meat and vegetables

I’m a plebe

I like hamburgers

I was satisfied

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My mother cooked everything else

Too bad you can’t taste

Her corned beef with cabbage

Carrots and potatoes

With the cornbread

(Southern)

That she made

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I can’t taste it anymore

For many years

Except to remember

I’ve found nothing close to hers

In waking time,

Since

Sigh

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What else my father cooked

Was awful

(shapeless shapes

on plates)

He was the only one

To eat those things

He made

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C L Couch

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Photo by Daniel Gamez on Unsplash

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