More from Grandma's Kitchen

Here's another Grandma poem that has come out in the last couple of weeks.

Flour flies from her fingers

The gentlest dusting of snow

Over green countryside of countertop

She shoves her glasses up the bridge of her nose

A white print remains amid furrowed eyebrows

As she recites, “Boiled sour cream – secret ingredient”

My pen flies across pages of notes

Studying the queen in her castle of cinnamon and spice

Compelling the ingredients to meld together

Treasures for the tongue which

Fingers fold faster than the eye

I long to emulate her graceful movement

Firmness, resolve, obvious love

As she leans across a snowy landscape and

With a smile brushes white flour from my cheek