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 …