The Gathering Room
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First published in Pathways, 2004
They're all here,
the last one arrived,
company's assembled;
sisters, sons, in-laws, grandmas.
Heartfelt hugs all around.
handshakes, back-slaps,
worn-out platitudes
exchanged.
I love the sound of it,
now that I'm standing
in Mother's shoes.
She's here, but at 88,
she's my guest now,
feted by three generations.
In the gathering room
they stood,
sniffing.
Impossible to move freely.
Last minute preparations bungled.
I'm all thumbs,
burning the yams,
spilling lemonade,
forgetting napkins.
I want to shout,
"Vamoose, get lost,
this is my kitchen."
How did she put up with us
All those years?
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
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