Day Writing by Heather Hamilton-Maude: Grandma’s House |

Day Writing by Heather Hamilton-Maude: Grandma’s House

It’s a kitchen table that nearly fills the room

Beneath a wooden clock sporting a mule deer buck

There are cookies in the jar on the counter

The biggest of the set with the mushrooms on top

Handwritten recipes in a fine cursive print

Hideous carpet the seventies sent

More than twenty sets of dishes ready to serve

Pat Sajak in the corner asking for a verb

Friend chicken and lavishly doctored baked beans

Homemade jam and dinner rolls alongside handpicked greens

Fresh cream atop canned peaches or rhubarb dessert

Followed by coffee stout enough to make your head hurt

Plenty of room to sleep a dozen or more

In bedrooms located on three different floors

Beds all made and awaiting their guests

Electric blankets ready to warm upon request

The backdrop to countless hours of dialog

A pair of davenports that house a little Chihuahua dog

The guardian against turkeys and mostly tame cats

Of whom he thinks the same his owner does of bureaucrats

Out front is a pair of large cottonwood logs

That have been transformed into flower pots

Lilacs, pansy’s and poppy’s provide the backdrop

To any car as it pulls to a stop

Coats are left and later gathered

On the small porch that goes from clean to haphazard

It’s the scene of years of goodbyes and rebundled kids

Who are ready to watch the back of their eyelids

The stove in the corner heats and smolders

There are wigs in the closet with hand-drawn faces on their holders

A box of toys that were old decades ago

And a picture-like view out every window

A place of warm welcome to all who arrive

An enthusiastic hello as the screen door swings wide

The little lady inside a favorite of all who have known

The one who made that house a home.