Growing up at Grandmas. 

Simple, hardwood floors, 

large dining tables and 

Re-covered chairs in the living room,

Ornate gifts from Grandaddy 

displayed on the mantle of the fireplace. 

Large front porch where games were played. 

Games played by my cousins and siblings 

long into the summer night as 

fireflies lit the sky and loud bull frogs croaking.

It was a symphony of noises, 

a crescendo of children’s laughter. 

The smells of Grandma’s kitchen 

filtered to the front porch into our 

senses that felt like hugs as we played. 

Barefoot and past-down dresses hung lose.

My board straight hair tinted with red was

always contrasted by my sisters’ curls. 

When we were small all things seemed simple.

Birthdays were many with 4 grandchildren 

living under their roof, we consumed their love.

Love they gave with time and toil. 

But, one thing we look forward to 

on our birthday was ‘the promise.’ 

The promise of a birthday cake, honoring 

you and your special day. 

The day you could wake knowing 

the smell in the kitchen was all yours.

It was the scratch cake grandma would make .

Singing all the while she worked, 

“Happy Birthday” to you …