Poem of the Week–Cream


My mother stands in the kitchen
pouring cream over sliced bananas,
cream skimmed from the top of
a milk bottle delivered that morning,
her flowered housedress
hangs loose on her frame.

On holidays she hand-whips cream
laced with powdered sugar and
vanilla into white mounds— her apron
catches stray spatters. She scoops
thick clouds onto pumpkin pie,
as light splays silver on her hair.

Years later she chooses cream puffs
from a bakery. I see her sitting at
the table late afternoon with tea and
the newspaper, a wrinkled hand
lifting a fork to thin lips with a smile,
her glasses tipped on her nose.

Behind her, a window opens to farmland
where once the clink of glass bottles
left on the step could be heard and
cream always rose to the top.

Lorraine Walker Williams
SW Florida Branch


  1. Carol Welsh says:

    This brought back wonderful memories. The cream was removed from the top for my father’s coffee. So, maybe we were drinking 2% milk back then.

  2. This is a lovely image of years passing, but certain themes remain part of us– never leaving– just morphing with us. Enjoying a lifelong favorite is one of these. I love cream too. Thanks for tickling my imagination!

  3. Susan says:

    Lorraine, I love this poem. I see my grandmother going through the very same motions. Your images are vivid and beautiful. Your poem also rises to the top. Congratulations. Susan

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