Poem of the Week #154

Passing On

I never met Ina Mae
but I own her rolling pin.

It was given me by Barry,
her once next-door neighbor.

His love for her taught me
that love knows no age.

She was always sweet to him
when he needed a friend

and something good to eat.
He, forty years her junior.

She was legendary and long gone
when I arrived on his scene.

Now, when I make rhubarb pie
in summer or chocolate shortbread

in winter, I picture her smiling
on her back porch in the house

next to Barry’s holding up
something on a plate. She has

a gray bun at the nape
of her neck and a flowered

apron that she smooths with weathered
hands. Her rolling pin turned butter

and flour into love, and now I have it,
have had it for nearly thirty years.

With each change, it just keeps rolling
and one day, I will pass it on to you.

Lisa Vihos