She

Her heart is large enough
To hold you close to her;
For she is not of this world.

She is foolish in her ways;
Poundwise or pennywise;
For she is not of this world.

She didn't give me a staff
Nor a bag for my journeys;
For she is not of this world.

Nor enough to nourish me
Like the others did theirs.
For she is not of this world.

But she loved me enough
To let me learn by model
To learn lessons my way.

Mom

All I wanted was a book of recipes like yours
Like the one you kept like a hidden treasure,
On special occasions, you'd leave the kitchen
Smelling of spices, roast chicken and plum cake.

The wild shopping spree just before Christmas,
The cake-mixing at midnight done together,
The written recipes followed to the last line
The spontaneous tweaks to the plans that I make.

This book of magic is abandoned after this loss,
Though the Christmas flavours linger in the air,
Goodwill, happiness and merriment-the first time
I had celebrated Christmas with flavours at home.

The secret recipes, the love of wine and laughter
All are lessons that I have learnt from you, mom.