Supper Is On the Table

Footsteps of bare feet press into the mud of the path Raindrops like soft pearls fall from darkening clouds embracing the blue mountains I trod along despite the chill and the wet up a familiar path the soles of my feet have known since childhood Holding my shoes to salvage them not wanting to clean off cakes of mud or ruin their insides. Up and up step by step with pant legs rolled up my legs I march up the narrow mountain path Need to reach the plateau where the field resides and amidst an evergreen woods a cabin rest Through the branches I see the chimney smoking Before the path becomes a stream I squish my way up a landing and here I am My head above the clouds my feet on grassy ground I see the bright warm light emitting from the front cabin windows On ward I walk to reach my childhood and in the air the smell of dumplings and kimchi stew Up the front porch steps I leap and knock on the worn front door it opens wide and my tiny grandmother smiles her toothless smile Wipe your feet boy supper is on the table