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
Copyright © Fritz Purdum | Year Posted 2020
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