Mom's Kitchen

She could not tell you now what she was thinking
As she sat in her mothers kitchen
Stirring a pot
She was still young then
wearing her favorite white dress, lace trimmed
Wanted to cook just like mom
She stood then on tip toes inspecting hot contents
She would stir
The kitchen the same now as it was when she was a little girl
Painted a fresh coat of white with flower curtains hanging
Over the sink, the ones her daddy hated so much
She is reminded of good times when she would sit
On her daddy's lap or sip cocoa with mom
At that very table, the one in the corner of the room
That was her time to vent, to cry as she often did
Tears that would burn straight through to her soul
Her mother would listen intently as she would prepare the next meal
with such a calmness in her voice for her beloved daughter
On long days like this when feelings of inadequacy would flood back
Years now lost, she would turn to her dear mother who would ease her fears
Only if someone would have told that little girl in the white dress
To be as free as long as she could
But all of this is lost
Because I cannot tell you now what she was thinking.