I have a Problem

Piled high on the table sit cook books.
All shapes and sizes abound.
There's cookies, cakes, and casseroles.
Modern tips and tricks, plus 70's citche.
I have to keep them all.

My mother's handwriting captured in a pickle relish recipe.
The curve of the o's, the slant of the l's.
It brings back memories of her smile.
I have a problem.
When I see a cook book I feel connected.

I collect them, but I don't cook often.
I have magazines and cards.
I have clippings, and little pieces of cardboard.
There's never enough.
85 total books and I want more.
The flea market has them for 2 bucks.
I'm told I need to stop, but I can't.

Just picking up a one with tons of pictures can cheer up my day.
It's one of the ways I spend a raining day.
It opens up my mind back to a time when my family would gather
around the kitchen table and fill the room with laughter.
I miss those days, so I open up a cook book to escape.
I don't see that as a problem.