Monday, November 28, 2016

Monday WRites 85

[image from myway dot com]

This poem is sweet
This poem is a candy
This poem is the sacrifice of a mother's hands
This poem is fudge

Thick as treacle, brown as chocolate
The smooth yummy-ness
Melts on your tongue, sweet.

White coconut meat, scrawled
Across tin grater, steady and firm,
Hands of a mother. Milk of the nut
Squeezed through a strainer

Bubble bubble what's the hurry?
Take your time, thicken
To just right consistency.
Beat beat, a rhythm from the ladle
Wooden and willing,
Thick enough is the treacle.

Spread in a shallow pan.
Buttered is better, pat tenderly.
Sweet as can be, mark out,
Then cut the cutest little cubes.

This poem is candy, children to delight.
This poem is coconut fudge, a bit of cocoa powder mixed in.
COCONUT FUDGE © gillena cox 2016

[image from myway dot com]

Process Note
The Mother's hands in this poem are not mine, but those of my mother, who made for me as a child (and my other siblings) delicious fudge and sugar cakes. I cannot make these sweets even if my life depended on it, Thanks Mom for these precious little gifts of delight.

You've heard about the Monday Blues ❧✿❧ well this is Monday WRites (musing on the definition here of rite, as any customary observance or practice eg the rite of afternoon tea).
Welcome to Monday WRites #85, ❧✿❧ What's your mood like today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites


Blog hopping at
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads
Weekend Mini Challenge: Cooking up a storm