I remember Mama’s pancakes every Saturday morning
The sunshine washing over my bedroom, my eyelids fluttering open
The sweet aroma of freshly tapped maple syrup drifting on the air
Consuming my nostrils and watering my mouth
I would climb out of my bed, escaping the comfort of my blankets
Still barefoot and clad in baggy, baby pink Hello Kitty pajamas
Hair a mass of tangled curls and blonde streaks
Eyes still dull with sleep, stomach rumbling with hunger
My little brother in his highchair, squealing with delight
Mashed carrots masking his face and splattering on the table
I would sit next to Papa, staring out at the wilderness of Canada
Listening to the tweeting of the birds
Appreciating the still colorful sky, God’s canvas
The curtains billowing in the breeze flowing through from the open window
Hearing the crickets still awake in the morning’s dim rays
Mama would walk over, hair tied back, apron flowing over her nightdress
She would place a ceramic plate decorated with flowers topped with pancakes
And set the jar of jam made by our neighbors
And the glass cup of thick, brown syrup
A plastic blue cup of cow’s milk for me, set next to my empty plate
A sippy cup of grape juice for my sibling
A tall glass of goat’s milk from our Uncle’s ranch for Papa
And finally Mama sits down next to my brother and I fill my plate
With the hot cakes and drown them in sweet liquid
Shoving a mouthful of the drenched pancakes into my pie hole
I savor the flavor on my pallet for it only comes once a week
On Saturdays when Mama’s pancakes are served
I remember those times at my old house
When the family enjoyed Mama’s pancakes