Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Cream of Wheat

grandma kneaded dough
with kites flapping 'neath her arms
and invited curious curls
sprinkle spices
and flour
         dabble at a dribble of

on Winter visits
lights set fire
to carols
weaved by the warmth of her rocking chair
evergreen arms
were friendly
and tickly
like her saggy skin

spicy hot cocoa,
spilled into
just-right-for children
polka-dot mugs
with pinchable handles,
just like grown ups
and squishy mini-marshmallows
to console
that tiny place that
doesn't want to be big yet,

always served later than necessary
with a crumb of
Ramona Quimby
then off to Care Bear-
or Rainbow Brite
sleeping bags

warm days
meant rocks skittering across lakes,
painting a ladybug pebble
or crafting manila tag-board
furniture for a
needy family of dolls.
It was
learning to crochet,
pretend play,
Shirley Temple
and animal shapes,
dandelion glasses
               always only halfway full
"you can have more if you drink it all"
and that's just the way it was

she wrote a book on how to be thankful
wrote a novel on how to help those in need
but mostly taught
three girls that Cream of Wheat
(as in all of life)
is better with lumps and love


  1. So so true. Love this poem. Thanks for sharing.

  2. What a leagcy! She sounds like quite a woman, and you look just like her:)