My Grandma Smelt of Peppermints
My Grandma smelt of peppermints.
Her kitchen of boiling bacon,
and margarine - it was always steamy
and 'welcomingly' warm.
The bathroom, off the kitchen,
smelt of carbolic soap, and a layer
of talcum powder dusted the cupboards
a reminder of its liberal use.
The garden, with a greenhouse,
had a glorious array of pinks
and Sweet Williams - it was always summer:
no winters here, always sunny, as I recall.....
The old corrugated air-raid shelter,
above ground now, was a haven
for childhood, childish games.
It smelt of paraffin from the heater.
My Grandma smelt of peppermints.
She would lick her hanky and
wipe my mouth if it was sticky
from the gingerbread she'd made.
My Grandma always looked the same,
never younger, never older:-
her memory etched in my cerebral
photo frame as I remember her ........
smelling of peppermints,
fingers deformed with crippling arthritis,
but smiling, wiping mouths, cooking,
or sitting in her little garden in a floral dress.....
She's been gone for thirty years now,
but still I see her there.
I see the tissue filled pockets in her
'pinny'and the pin-curls in her hair.
Yes, my Grandma smelt of peppermints.........
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.
