©2014 by Alice Walker
For Rebecca
Ten years is a long time
and I have missed you.
I thought of this
this morning as I commenced making
a splendid (it turned out) frittata.
You taught me how to do this. After ten years during
which I assumed you did not cook — time stops
when we are absent —
you stood in my kitchen and casually,
speaking of something trivial,
made the most mouthwatering
frittata. It did not stick, it did not burn,
it was not soggy on top
it was good!
During those same ten years
I tried to make frittatas but feared they’d never cook
all the way through; all the way to the top.
But no, watching you closely, I saw
when yours threatened to remain a bit mushy
you calmly transferred it to the oven,
which I thought would surely burn it.
But — not!
Out it came the perfect consistency.
Delicious!
I was in awe.
And so, today, I think: it is all the simple
times of sharing simple things
that I have missed. The mutual teaching and learning
that is, or should be, a daughter’s and a mother’s right.