Track 9 of the album Porch Light Left On · 2016
Her Handwriting in the Margins
“A cookbook that falls open on the same page because her thumb had worn it there. I made a lot of soup after writing this.”
acoustic · keepsake folk · cosy acoustic · 4:33
Lyrics
Her cookbook fell open on the pantry shelf Spine gone soft from the years A thumbprint of flour on page forty-two And a smudge where she once shed tears In pencil she wrote, a little less salt And, double it if they're all here Little notes to a cook who hadn't been born But she somehow knew I'd be near Her handwriting in the margins Is still teaching me how To stir the pot a little slower And be kind to the here and now Every crooked little letter Is a hand upon my own Her handwriting in the margins Makes a kitchen feel like home I made her apple dumplings on a Sunday afternoon The windows all steamed up and warm The house smelled like the winters of my childhood Before I'd learned of any storm Some people leave you houses Some people leave you gold She left me a stained old notebook And a way to hold the cold Her handwriting in the margins Is still teaching me how To stir the pot a little slower And be kind to the here and now Every crooked little letter Is a hand upon my own Her handwriting in the margins Makes a kitchen feel like home A little less salt, my darling And always, always stay for tea