promise

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 …

Picked among a garden, this one unique rose,
taken from green thorns, this flower she chose.
Sat upon his desk, and nurtured from stems,
drenched in water, a vase, looking back at him.
The secret of this rose was not from the attending.
The secret of its beauty was from its sending.
Beauty in its temporal form and in nature’s bloom,
eternal rose, deep within, nurtured to the tomb.

Revised 2019 CMM

Her soul needed refreshing 

she returned to the sea

when the waves came, her troubles leave

her hair played with the wind

her smile swept across her face

she felt the universe give back her grace

early morning from darkness to light

rise into colors of orange, pink, reds 

she nodded and watched, no words said

Her soul needed refreshing 

she returns always to the sea

where the waves come, her troubles leave 

Copyrighted:  2017 CMM