Children, family, grace, Motherhood, Vulnerability

I’ve never heard of it and truly can’t imagine.

Coconut in red velvet cake

Or anything other than cream cheese icing

Pecans on top.


Mama and her sister, Sue Nell, my Aunt Boo, wedding cake and keeping things straight. This was them…is them.

Or a pound cake without a pound of butter

Or chocolate cake not thin like pancakes as layers.

I talked about my mama today.

Talked about her cake.

I had a moment where happiness became a tightening of my chest

And a catching in my throat.

A filling up of dampness in my eye.

But, mostly love.

Mostly honor.

The most amazing baker of cake I know, no disputing.

To my mama.

I miss you.

I love you.

I talk about your cake.

Talked about it last week with your sister, my Aunt Boo.

And today with two women who will

Never bake cake like you.

Coconut’s for birthdays, not red velvet.

It’s big tall cakes, fluffy white, opulently  rich.

Special, it was mine.

Every year.

Your granddaughter, my daughter, bakes cakes.

Cooks with love like you.

That’s the secret, you said.


Happy Mother’s Day in heaven, mama.

I hope you’re bakin’ cakes.

Coconut, caramel, red velvet and pound.


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