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Eating her up

She is flour and dumplings,
subtle as peaches,
tart as rhubarb,
sweet as a cherry cake.

Stands in the slipstream
of slow-cooked lunches,
buttoned in her apron,
lovely as a lark.

Scent her in the steam
rising from a colander;
all minted potatoes
and fresh-popped peas.

Catch her in the sunshine
of homegrown tomatoes,
willow-pattern loveliness,
summer on a plate.

She’s sausages on Saturdays,
bread and dripping sandwiches,
raspberry ripple ice cream
sliced with a knife.

She’s Kilner jars and kindness,
bottled generosity,
Christmas puddin’ charity —
homemade Nan.

© Vicky Arthurs 2015 / 2017

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