A kitchen eulogy -- by Kim Ode

After all the calls were made --

"It was so sudden..." "She went quickly..."

After all the details were settled --

"The navy dress with her pearl broach..." "Rock of Ages..."

After the funeral had lent its comfort --

"Pastor was good today..." "They're together now..."

Everyone came back to her house

As everyone always had.

So it didn't seem strange

To be setting out her dishes,

And using her hot pads to pull

The neighbors' casseroles from the oven.

It wasn't until they were packing up the leftovers

That it struck them that no one lived here anymore,

That it was no use putting food in the fridge.

And that was when they found the cookie dough.

She'd put it there to chill in her pale green Pyrex bowl,

Dough the color of pale caramel,

Although one taste told them it was for peanut butter cookies,

The kind she criss-crossed with a fork.

She'd been known for her cookies,

Not so much for their particular quality

(Betty Crocker made everyone a good baker)

But for their constancy and quantity.

The women looked at each other,

Knowing that she'd never want good ingredients

To go to waste.

(She'd always used Land 'O Lakes butter.)

And so they set the oven to 350

And pulled out her cookie sheets

And rolled the dough into inch-wide balls

And criss-crossed them with a fork

And baked them until they were just firm

And cooled them on her wire rack.

And then they cried, cried as if they'd never cried before.

They cried as they washed the cookie sheets,

Cried as they dried the Pyrex bowl and asked which daughter wanted it,

Cried as they ate every single one of those cookies,

Then brushed the crumbs from their good dresses

And returned to their own homes,

And began baking in blessed grief.