Christmas At My Mama's House
Hot steamy mashed potatoes dripping with blond gravy,
My mouth waters as I dip a spoon into mama’s peppered
corn casserole, a magical phenomenon that no one else has been
able to duplicate even with a recipe.
How had I missed the mountain of sweet potatoes languishing
in brown sugar sauce, with a marshmallow topping? I give
myself a couple of liberal helpings.
I smile at the delectable homemade roll,
which is glistening with melted butter.
Diets can start another day. Not today. Maybe
after all of the leftovers are gone, but not a second
before every single piece of homemade fudge is devoured.
Raspberry cobbler heated up with a glob of
icy cold vanilla ice cream or creamy chocolate cake
with seven-minute frosting? Is that pumpkin pie with
real whipped cream?
There are perhaps better ways to die,
but I can think of none of them.
Christmas at Mama’s house; be still my heart.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
