A Place Called Beautiful

There is a place called beautiful nestled deep in my mind's eye Gingham curtains crisply pressed frame periwinkle summer sky Brass kettle on the old gas stove reflects cast iron pans And always at the kitchen sink, I see busy, wrinkled hands. There is a place called beautiful, I'm transported with a whiff Of coffee brewing, dark and strong, I long to take a sip. And in the air a trace of Tollhouse cookies baked this morn And some perfume that only in this special spot is worn. There is a place called beautiful I hear in perfect dreams As Frankie croons and Louis wails all whilst the kettle steams And as she works, she never tires as she hums and sings along But the harmony of her lilting laugh is by far my favorite song. There is a place called beautiful, it tastes like sweetest creams Made in a bucket with a crank til her arms wore out, it seems And topped with juicy berries that would burst upon each bite And juices stained my mouth and clothes most every summer night. There is a place called beautiful, I long to feel again The naive sense that everywhere was as safe and free of sin Where love and peace were daily served with a kiss upon the cheek And grandma's kitchen always felt like you just found what you seek. 4/9/2019 / Poetry Marathon Final Placement / Sponsor: Mark Toney