December 13, 2019 – evening
Last week Jello cake was served for dessert. Mom said she was full and didn’t want any, but when she saw the small piece given to me, she changed her mind.
It was fun to see her totally consumed with the pleasure of eating that piece of cake. When she was almost finished, she said something that became the seed for this poem.
Crumble of Jello Cake
I slipped off her fork
just as the bite I was baked with
approached her open mouth.
It wasn’t a rough landing onto
the beige Formica tabletop–
just a gentle plop behind her cup of tea.
From where I landed
I could see her appetite energized by
the sweetness of red jello blended with
made-from-scratch yellow cake
and topped with a thin white blanket of fluff.
She loved it.
I could tell.
She chewed quickly,
her blue eyes wide with
the anticipation of each bite.
“This is really good,” she said,
stabbing the air with her fork
pointed at the remains on the plate.
But I wasn’t on the plate.
I sat hidden behind her cup
of tea until she reached for it
and took a sip.
Then she saw me.
“Oh, there you are!” she smiled,
tapping me with her fingertip
and sliding me onto her cream coated tongue.
And there I went,
joining my confectionery counterparts
as I slipped my way toward her
delight of what was sweet and soft
and made her smile.
JJ Mummert ©December 2019