Kitchen

Grandma's kitchen is warm and well
Sweet potatoes roast gently in the oven
Pies line the shelves
Their sugar crust coatings glistening in the sunlight
Her hands move deftly
Fingers crooked at the bone
Each tin and bowl moved gently
Prised open
Gifting treats to be savoured
Love to be shared
Our mouths water at the thought of her food
The table is old and lined
Like her face
There have been many stories told there
Many forgotten
The cups are chipped
The saucers fragile
The tea poured piping hot from the pot
We are captivated by its thick steaming flow
There must be noise
The sound of gentle working
But we do not hear
There is an unconscious flow
A place and time that exists beyond us
That's because Grandma's kitchen is a dream she whispers
I let the words drift over me
I like it in this place
I will quietly drink tea and graze on the pies
I will feel loved
I will have this person even if I can't touch her
If you can think of it, it exists somewhere
We find it in our words
Nothing better declares Alice
A film of sugar around her lips
A rosy glow in her cheeks
We did well to come here
To wait for the baking
To see this woman who welcomes us with open arms
Perhaps she will kiss my cheek
Perhaps we can come back whenever we want to
The door is always open
The fire always warm
We cosy down
Stomachs full
Grandma smiles at us
We are home.