His Favorite Dessert

Hey guys :) If you read my "About Me" page, you know that my grandfather is an extremely special person in my life. He introduced me to books and literature, which eventually became my whole life. He died in 2008 and 5 years later, I wrote this poem about him. His favorite dessert that his described in this poem is a Pineapple Upside-Down Cake. I love my grandpa very much and miss him everyday. This is dedicated to my late grandfather, Sadao Moriyama :)

His Favorite Dessert

Sleeves rolled up past my elbows

Revealing the scars and bruises beneath

Flour powders my hands and cheeks

But I pay no heed as I labor at my task.

The pineapple upside down cake.

Personally, I don’t like it, it’s too sweet

But He loved it, it was His favorite dessert.

He would always ask me to make it.

Vanilla extract, the heavenly scent tickles my nose

Cracking the eggs, the little orbs of sunshine splash down

Can’t get any shells in, I don’t want to disgrace the dessert.

The equally intoxicating almond extract

Smells so delicious, but doesn’t taste good.

I would know

I’ve tried.

It was 2008, four years ago now

The memories are like dust in the wind

But part of it, so raw, so real, sears me.

He fell, He fell, hurt himself and never got better.

Standing up hurt Him, it was so hard for Him to move

But nevertheless He returned home.

Mixing the pale golden batter

The sweet scents mingling together into an aroma

Of indescribable heavenly ambrosia.

A dollop of sour cream adds moisture to the cake

It’s February now and they had to bring in a hospital bed.

He can no longer stand up and move.

I feed Him dinner, cutting it up into small pieces,

He drinks through a straw, otherwise He’d choke.

The cup I brought back from Disneyworld

Still sits on his bedside table.

Slices of pineapple cut into perfect concentric circles

I lay each meticulously on the top of the cake

Or is it the bottom?

In the center of each circle of pineapple

A little maraschino cherry

Crimson on gold.

It’s March and He can no longer stay at home.

They move Him to a nursing home, where He will have constant care.

My family visits every day and brings food

We wheel Him out in His hospital bed so we can eat on the lanai

I think He might recover, I really do

But they wouldn’t put Him in a home, unless there was no hope.

I carefully spoon out the batter over the pineapple slices

With their little cherries

Every last bit is scraped out and smoothed over

There, you wouldn’t even know the pineapple was there.

It’s the second week of March and I don’t know what happened.

He doesn’t recognize me anymore

He can’t speak to us, but when He looks at me, I wonder

I wonder what He’s thinking

Does He really not remember me?

The cup isn’t on the bedside table anymore.

The cake is ready to bake

Into the preheated 350 degree oven

A forty five minute wait

Then a toothpick is inserted to ensure thorough cooking.

It’s the third week of March

When I enter the room, I smell decaying flesh

The nurses use words I don’t understand

They try to burn incense to cloak the smell

It doesn’t work.

Ding!

The cake is ready

I remove it carefully, it’s so hot

I don’t need more scars on my arms.

It’s the fourth week of March

How I wish we had arrived an hour earlier

He’s not moving, He’s not breathing

The nurses say the word, but I don’t want to hear it.

March 28, the first day I saw my father cry

Silvery tears, like pearls on parchment

My grandma cries, holding white Kleenex to her eyes

My mother cries, trying to console my widowed grandma

The cake has cooled and I grasp the slightly warm pan

I invert the cake and the scent explodes twofold.

Pineapple, sweet caramel, vanilla and almonds

The cake slides out, perfect and golden brown.

Slices of pineapple glisten with caramel

Steam rises from the soft and fluffy cake

Suffusing the air with a warm fragrance.

I can’t stand it.

The nurses give us handouts about how to deal with the death of a loved one

I tear them up and throw them away

They give me back the cup

I throw it away too.

How could he be gone?

How will he never see me graduate?

How will he never taste his favorite dessert again?

He’s gone, my grandfather, the man who taught me so much

Who gave me the book of Aesop’s Fables

Who planted the seed of literature in my heart

Who nursed it with memories of pipe smoke in his study

Who gave me piles of leather bound books

Who I would read beside in the dim light of pre-dawn

Who would joke about milking a goat for my breakfast

Who loved me, cherished me and taught me.

私はおじいちゃんがないのを寂しいです。

(Watashi wa ojiichan ga nai no wo sabishii desu.)

Grandpa, I miss you.

愛してる

(Ai shiteru)

I love you.