Baking Christmas Cookies
at Grandma’s House


With the ease of many decades,

She instructs me to keep her ornaments and cookie cutters

After she has no more use for them. 

 

Split them with your brother, she clarifies.

Looking straight ahead, I silently

Refuse to even nod in agreement with this informal will.

 

Sharing nearly three decades of

Flour dusted pans and hands intermingled,

Tiny fresh fingerprints poking holes in dough,

All the while, her soft wrinkled hands smooth out

Triangle trees, lumpy snowmen, and intricate snowflakes.

 

Working together,

We shape, cut, bake, adorn, and

Sneak the occasional bite of raw dough.

Her ears taking in our excitement and worry.

 

In an even tone, and

With a faith that can move mountains,

She smoothes out the wrinkled parts of life

That I don’t yet understand.