Gracie's String-bean Casserole

Gracie sits beside me at the pot-luck luncheon. 
She wears lacy half-sleeves to cover her tattoos 
now that she is born again. Those arms flash out 
in frustration toward my piled-high plate 
when I compliment her string-bean casserole,
and I mean it—it is good. 

“No,” she insists. 
“If it hadn’t sat in the church kitchen 
through the long morning service,
with moisture gathering under the foil,
the onions on top would have stayed crispy. 
Instead they’re mushy. 
I just wish you could’ve tasted it before.”

I understand.
Once, my offering was at its finest,
fresh, poised, and able like crisp onions.
Now I am unseemly, white, and frayed,
my song like soggy bellows.
I aged out of freshness in my turn, as happens
after decades of long services spent under foil.

Yet, as I live, something tasty may persist,
and while I wish you could’ve tasted it before,
this is what I have to share anymore.

--
Michelle Shelfer and her husband, Jerry, operate a non-profit called Prepare a Room Ministries, which seeks to help those hurt by abortion and disciple the next generation to embrace life and the Giver of life. Her poetry has been published in Ekstasis, Penwood Review and Solid Food Press. Her poetic themes often centre around motherhood. She can be found at michelleshelfer.substack.com/ and on social media at @preparearoom.