and post notes and photos about your poem like Ann Foster.
Great grandma made cookies.
She called them poor man cookies.
She told her daughter how to make them.
Grandma made them when I was little…
They were sweet crackers and water icing.
Cheerfully I made them with my small daughter.
She brightly named them “homeless cookies”.
I asked why and she told me.
Everyone can make sweet cookies,
even without an oven.
Not everyone has one…
My heart ached. “homeless”.
Together, her and I,
We named them again.
We now call them “Heart Cakes”.
Home is in your heart,
and you carry those you love
there with you always…
never homeless at all.
Copyright © Ann Foster | Year Posted 2019