baking cookies
with grandma,
stealing bites of dough,
some things we
don't grow out of
sitting at the counter
Grandma’s Famous Gravy
I call Dibs
everybody cutting in line
in a race to the microwave
fresh cranberries
have no place here
we salute the almighty can
in the shape of a hockey puck
comes my salvation
an ordinary night
around the kitchen table
stitches in my side
the laughter we share
this I long for in the late hours
top quarter champion
TOP half Chamption
bottom quarter champion
nostrils filled with
the smells of a feast
"fit for a king"
says mother as she pulls
the bird out of the oven
hissing pots galore
bubbling gravy to be devoured
purple eggplants line the walls
she calls my name
Amen
honey baked ham glistening away
simmering pots of sauces plus sides
seconds, thirds even
falling asleep anywhere
everything tastes better as leftovers
Trying
to get scraps
from underneath
"No, Rusty!"
every time . . .
TOP half champion
CHAMPION
BOTTOM half champion
The mother
thankful to have
thankful for god
on earth
the guardian angel
So many
without a home
and many things
we have taken
for granted
Chicken and dumplings
simmering, sweet
beautiful crockpot
ah, Nana,
it’s been too long
Grandma's house
again?
like last year
won't Grandpa
get lonely?
top quarter champion
BOTTOM half champion
bottom quarter champion
I can feel . . .
the stuffing
in my estomago
in my face
slowing not moving
in a coma
not of this realm
knocked out
by four pm
drooling
the family
their voices
in a food coma
taking over
slowly, but surely
watching my
young cousins
chase each other,
the boundless energy
I had many years ago