sara Etgen-Baker Poet Free verse

Notes About The Poem

image from poetess' personal scrapbook--my parents' home

MY BONES REMEMBER

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home—a sigh in worn floorboards,
kitchen's cinnamon hum,
dog's tail thumping welcome
against my shins. 

rain taps
the tin roof's lullaby.

grandma's quilt, threadbare love
stitched in every patch.

not just walls, but the ache
that loosens when the key
turns in the lock. 
safe. 
known.

my bones remember.

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Line Gauthier December 17, 2025 at 2:58 PM Love the modest houses back then. What warm memories are conjured by your poem, Sara. I just finished repairing my grand-mother's quilt made in 1972 which had been in use since then. Some of the fabric was disintegrating. Now restored. sara Etgen-Baker December 21, 2025 at 3:59 PM wow, what a wonderful thing to do...restoring an heirloom quilt. Glad you had the heart and patience to do so. Yes, I kind of liked the modest home in which I grew up...warm and cozy (but also crowded)

Mystic Rose Rose December 16, 2025 at 4:23 PM Oh Sara our bones always remember the place we once called home, perhaps we never really left there at all. Thank you for sharing this jewel of a poem sara Etgen-Baker December 16, 2025 at 5:06 PM awww, thank you, Rose, for your touching and sweet comments. Hope you and yours are well, hugs,