Crisscross

 

Our kitchen became hers when

she moved in with us

after Grandpa died.

 

She taught me classic

peanut butter cookies—

how to crisscross the tops with sugared fork.

 

I watched knee-side as she made

cream pies, one after the other,

laying a blanket of raw pie crust in a tin,

 

poked with fork, baked, let cool,

and scooped full with mounds of creamy goodness

in rich dollops filling up the shell.

 

She shaved chocolate,

sprinkled toasted coconut,

layered thick meringue.

 

I wish I could look

into that kitchen window,

peering in from the backyard,

 

and see her strong capable hands,

her quick movements,

my eyes wide and hopeful,

 

youthful innocence and joy

sticking to my fingers

like sugar and cream.

 

Oh, for a quick taste

of memory—

like the window to a long-forgotten dream.

 

 

© 2026 Jennifer Wagner

 

Poetic Bloomings: Windows

 

image above created by me using copilot