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.