Ummm...yeah...
Ingredients
Sorting through memories
Trying to decide which ones to keep
I blew dust off a stack of pictures
There was Grandma
Not frail or failing
Smiling
Wiping her hands on the ever-present apron
As the scent of baked beans filled the attic
There were no words between us then
Simple words can never stretch around
the fullness of time like this
No
Conversing only bursts the fragile spell
that only hearts can weave
You wove so well
encompassing me in a soft embrace
that carried me here into today
You told me once
so long ago
there is refuge in remembering
In that refuge solace
In that solace
a country where faces never bear the tracks of tears
I closed the attic door
walked slow into the kitchen
So like you Grandma
I reach into the cupboards
pulling out kettle and ingredients
knowing I’ll never need a recipe
As I loving
make baked beans
I know I just drew some raw emotion out of you...I reached out...plucked a tattered wisp from the air and gently tugged it free...
Why would I do such a thing...?
Especially being as this story is pure fiction...you see...I never knew my Grandma's...I only imagined what it might be like to have comfort such as
that...to have that anchor to hold onto in times of doubt...It's not that it isn't true...somewhere out there...It only wasn't ever true for
me...
Cherish your connections...cherish those ties that bind you in family...in heritage...in ancestry...
For all those who never had such comfort...I gift this to you...
YouSir