Legs swollen; edema run amuck,
no more luck in getting around
like he was used to doing.
An eighteen month sentence,
commuted to four, and what’s more,
Sonny boy had returned to take charge.
The run of his mother’s kitchen,
he, now tending to the man of her dreams
and nightmares. Sustenance in the creamy
broths and tattered recipes my father had
missed in twenty years of exile.
I can sense my mother’s love
in each page of hand written instruction;
a connection through Epicurean quarters,
her silent support at my shoulder
and her warming smile filling both
of our hearts, deliciously.
no more luck in getting around
like he was used to doing.
An eighteen month sentence,
commuted to four, and what’s more,
Sonny boy had returned to take charge.
The run of his mother’s kitchen,
he, now tending to the man of her dreams
and nightmares. Sustenance in the creamy
broths and tattered recipes my father had
missed in twenty years of exile.
I can sense my mother’s love
in each page of hand written instruction;
a connection through Epicurean quarters,
her silent support at my shoulder
and her warming smile filling both
of our hearts, deliciously.
Walt
Walt,
ReplyDeleteThis brings too many memories of my own to the surface. I understand this one so much more than anyone should ever have to and yet I wish all could experience the pain of such understanding so that they could appreciate each breath, each tear, each year of magnificent life given to us.