Andrew Crisci Poet Rhyme

Standing In The Shady Doorway

Many are the dreams that memory is allowed to collect,
we hide them not too sure how long they'll last
in the depth of secrets they bloom in each spring,
although we are more fragile than a grieving lapwing.

Mother was standing in the shady doorway,
awaiting my return from the nearby school,
her forehead sweating from the kitchen's heat;
long hours of cleaning and cooking made her tired..
Marinated chicken was cooking slowly,
veggies grown on the sunny terrace smelled good;
fresh bread baked daily was a sure treat;
I became impatient, I began to drool. 

I waved at her, jumping and screaming,"
she stood in the shady doorway smiling,
no hug felt warmer than hers: a heartfelt thrill;
" Come , my adored boy, I have stories to tell! "

And while chestnuts were roasting
on the flaming fire, its loud crackling sound rhymed
with those sparks, so reminiscent of. youth and beyond,
became the smallest stars fleeting
to a huge universe of deep silence;
never detaching me from their presence.

I'm standing in the shady doorway,
where mom breathed in fresh air;
her spirit is strongly felt at the end of the long day;
I'm overwhelmed by a sadness deeper than prayer.. 
.

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