Cona Adams Poet Free verse

Notes About The Poem

First published in Pathways, 2004

The Gathering Room

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?

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Ilene Bauer October 31, 2014 at 10:28 AM yes, it's amazing how easy our mothers and grandmothers made it all seem. you've captured that so well in this poem... Cona Adams October 31, 2014 at 11:13 AM You are so kind, Ilene. I am now going over to your page to read.