Grandma’s Kitchen


The post it over the clock read “Wrong Time”
A sort of patch
Clean forks soaked in clean soapy water
Their third wash

Wrapped candies under a closed lid and dust
Phone cord hangs neatly,
Used and put back in a clean routine

One small window,
Rose bushes underneath,
Pruned at the proper times,
Admired all year.

You sat in your rocker,
Looking across the living room,
Into your kitchen,
For the view of the window.

It was clean,
You didn’t call.

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