By Jessica Lovelady

Steam is rising off the old white stove while sweat pours off her
brow
Stirring the big blue pot while never ceasing from whipping the
white bowl
“Do you need any help I ask?” No! She replies, “You’ll just get in
my way”
She’s right! I watch in amazement, her moves choreographed
down to the second
Checking the oven while shooing tiny fingers away from the
freshly iced cake
Pots and lids cling and clang making a sort of music in the kitchen

“It’s ready!” she bellows throughout the neighborhood
The sound is followed by a stampede of feet on the porch
The screen door slams again and again and again

The potatoes are dished out; the chicken plate is now empty
One lonely piece of cornbread stares at the faces around the
table
The only sound to be heard is of fork hitting plates and chewing
and swallowing
Her job is done and for the first time all day she gets what she
wanted

A piece of quiet