I am not sure about the ending. It doesn’t have a metaphor— the point I want to make is even though not “whole” it’ still treasured and useful. (like a person with a disability.)

Mimi’s Rolling Pin

Smooth and tan
wood-grained
whiff of pie crust
and sugar cookie
scent of prairie pantry
on a sticky July day.
One-handled and
handed down to me.
My palms press
the floured forearm
begin at the center
inch outward,
north, south, east, west
thinning dough to round.
One end amputated
the other loose and useless
opposite its missing twin,
the one lopped off
a century ago
to fit the kitchen drawer.

Revision #3

One-Armed Rolling Pin

I lift it from a crumpled box of
her household things,
one-handled and handed down
from grandmother – to mother – to me.
Takes me back to
Gramma Mimi’s prairie pantry,
the smell of old wood
sticky with July,
tall cupboards painted white.
Windowed in white light,
she was surrounded by white flour, white sugar,
stirring spoons, glass measuring cups,
and a one-armed rolling pin —
the one of flaky pie crust
and tender lemon cookies
rolled out, baked,
then fed onto our eager tongues.

Smooth and tan, wood-grained
still smells of pie crust
and cookie dough.
I press palms
to the floured forearm
begin at the center, inch outward,
north, south, east, west,
thin the dough to round
roll back time
as I maneuver the blunt end,
lopped off a century ago
to fit the kitchen drawer
of her prairie pantry.