The Sisterhood

We are the canny measurers, controllers of the scales,
we set the tables, clear them, wash and wipe up,
dutiful as the shadows sewn to our heels.

A drop of vinegar to seal a cracked egg at a rolling boil,
a sprinkle of flour to cure a curdled creaming,
a metal spoon to cut & fold, to keep in air; we know

the energy it takes to whisk whites to the soft-peak stage,
the pinch of salt that's a trick of our mothers' trade
picked up at elbow, learned at marble slab, by syrup tin.

Thinner, paler than our mothers, we won’t age like them
but shrink like sponges, grow down on our faces as we make
each day an empty bowl, a grain of rice saved up for,

a purple fruit to hold in the mouth before we bite, release
the stain, discover safe flesh and the hard of a stone to keep,
high and husbanded, against our puckered cheeks.

The Sisterhood, by Susan Utting is included in ROOM, an anthology of prize-winning poems from the 2006 Tonbridge Poetry Competition.

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