The Blackened Gold

She was purposely burning her own croutons for so long...
Until blackened
Until too filled with oils and fire that bread would become stone..
Until hardened beyond crisping
Until carbon...
Until reminded of the beginnings -
When she'd watch her grandma in the kitchen
Curiously
Fascinated
With the magic
of the big box
that simmered and sizzled
that heated and scented
of everything her family
enjoyed..

Of the time when she was
Introduced to the delicious grandma muck
- oatmeal.

Suddenly her young adult Alzheimer's uplifted -
Memories and images flooded

The cookies,
The cakes
The lasagna -
she baked as a child..
As she hummed the tunes
Of Shaggy.

Oven mittens
the favorite accessory
She'd forgotten as time bore
her resilient to her passions.

Her secretive passion
was bearing
itself..
From the grounds
Like a seed
Who only required
A tilling of soil to
remind itself
of it's purpose.

Alit,
the glow of the croutons
regained its memory.

She admits herself
To the mental reminder
Institution -
Of remembering her previous
Joy.

How could she have been
Dispelled for so long by
refraining to use the
Oven
during hot Summers,
Knowing Fall would need
The potential warmth that
Sat in stillness,
On the bench
waiting
to play.

She falls in love with her mitts..
As love hit's its homerun
Into
A batch of
Golden croutons.