Welsh Rarebit

By bhi

Sat, 14 Aug 2021
  • 619 reads
2 comments
 

 

My mother entered saying we were in for a treat;

a friend had brought a new savoury,

shared it at work and oh lord, was it good!

 

We watched as she took slices of stale bread,

layered them with ghee, thick wedges of cheddar

then turning, triumphant, to make it her own,

 

she reached for her special mint chutney,

spooned a spreading pond onto each.

Two minutes later grilled, plated,

 

seated at the recently broken table,

we tasted this new delight.

Even my father smiled,

 

and, for a moment, fears suspended,

we forgot about the dark room,

the fractured nights, the stifled tears.

Certificate 15
Poem
On the Theme of IS

Comments

Submitted by Di_Hard on

I remember meal times could be tricky, like different air pressures being forced to meet so always the possibility of thunderstorms, tension like a knife that could suddenly cut if you did the wrong thing. So sympathise, though what you endured is far worse.

Your Welsh Rarebit, a rare bit of happiness, sounds like a wonderful fusion food, made with ghee and mint chutney :0) I liked how you started with "My mother entered" she is like sunshine all through the poem. Even shining on the broken furniture overlaying that bad memory with a good one, and your father, I guess who broke it, is warm, too, for a little while 

 

Submitted by bhi on

Thank you, Di. Meal times were always strained affairs, especially when my father was around, but my mother was the pole star to whom we were attached and she pulled us through with her resilience and sheer will to be. The addition of the chutney gave the rarebit another dimension, purely her own, and even now ,that is how I make it.