Aunt Rose's Kitchen
Too many thoughts were assaulting me,
Paralyzing my mind, body, spirit, and soul.
They overwhelmed me with the anxious demands of now.
As I wrap myself in a particular warm blanket of reminiscence
I travel away to another time.
Ah, Summer –
Picking strawberries in the field on a clear June day.
My uncle yells to me “gloves might help you pick faster pokey.”
I wipe my muddy shoes off on a piece of solid straight metal
fixed to the stoop landing for this purpose.
The scent of homemade apple slices suddenly confronts me,
Slowing my run through the long front porch,
While the billowing yellow curtains waved me on.
The aroma of bread rising on the kitchen counters
Almost makes me stumble as I walk into the parlor.
Collapsing on an old dusty sofa just as hot and dirty as I.
Completely forgetting my task.
I pulled the blanket of reminiscence tighter.
Not quite yet ready to return to the now.
I was home in the second home of my childhood.
The fragrance of apple cinnamon mixed with the aroma of yeast-raised bread.
Sweet spaghetti sauce bubbled on the stove.
Supper must be soon.
This was the event not to be missed.
It seemed as if 20 people were sitting at that table
On summer evening with calm and peace settling down.
In Aunt Rose’s Kitchen.
This is oft where I go when the life of now
becomes burdensome,
Failures assault my mind,
And shame will not release my soul to peace.
How I long to visit the farm again.
It is packed away in my memory.
Someplace insignificant,
Hidden in a warm blanket of reminiscence
that is only mine.
I sat quietly as the life of then and now slowly merged.
And I smiled.
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