(IM)PERFECT MEMORIES
The weakening pale yellow glow
of early evening sun
reflects off the polished hardwood floor
showing every imperfection.
No wonder the kitchen table wobbles.
Years from now we'll struggle
to recall those precious times
when we all gathered as one.
But how easily we'll remember,
with a slow grin,
those child-like see-saw moments
when we passed the potatoes.
The weakening pale yellow glow
of early evening sun
reflects off the polished hardwood floor
showing every imperfection.
No wonder the kitchen table wobbles.
Years from now we'll struggle
to recall those precious times
when we all gathered as one.
But how easily we'll remember,
with a slow grin,
those child-like see-saw moments
when we passed the potatoes.
posted by Pilgrim Path | 9:08 AM
2 Comments:
I'm back from vacation. Your poem reminds me of Grandma Ellstrom's kitchen. How wonderful.
Betsy
Very nice poem.
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