Cakes My Mother Baked

I’m baking a cake.
To test its doneness,
I use the testing stick
My mother whittled years ago.
It waits in my kitchen drawer.

She used it to test that cheesecake
She always made to greet me
When I came to visit.
It was my very favorite cake
Only she could make it so well.

She served it on a crystal platter,
With the gold-rimmed plates,
With wordless love,
And a small bouquet of flowers
On a hand-embroidered table cloth.

Now I am the age she was then,
And I have an adult daughter
Who comes to visit.
I thought, then, that my mother made the cake
To please my palate.

Now I realize she was saying,
I may not understand your new opinions,
Or talk with you about your new ideas.
But I know you can taste my love
In the cake I bake for you.