it's a lovely autumn afternoon.
you've flown out of state, away from home, on a whim
and are sitting in a kitchen. a very green kitchen.
green is your grandma's favorite color.
you sit at the island, watching as she bustles
the kitchen is far too small, her cat Max nearly tripping her
every time he saunters past, tail waving in the air. he's always on a mission.
grandma's baking something. snickerdoodles; you can smell them.
the sweet, buttery aroma hangs in the air like a hummingbird
hovering in place.
she can't taste test the batter for quality, but you can see her eyeing it.
she had a health scare recently, so she can only eat certain things now.
but she still bakes, humming to herself before looking up at you
with a homely smile.
snickerdoodles are your favorite; she could probably make them
with her eyes closed at this point.
the kitchen window is cracked, the warm Oregon air
seeping through it like golden honey, welcome and sweet.
you take a sip of the mug of tea in your hands. it's warm, too.
you smile to yourself, thinking "it's like i'm drinking the sunlight."
Grandpa comes out of his painting studio at last,
and he beams upon seeing you,
his bald head gleaming like a baked potato
with butter on top.
you wish you could stay here forever.
YOU ARE READING
the archives - a poetry portfolio
PoetryA light buzzing distracts you from whatever you're doing. There is an old, weathered monitor on a table next to you. You could have sworn that it had just *appeared* out of thin air. Out of curiosity, you stare at it for a moment. The screen flicke...
