Granny’s Kitchen
We lived out of boxes
most of my life
moving from
house to
house to
house –
city to
city to
city –
province to
province to
province.
The only anchor,
in my young mind,
was my Granny’s
old house
in a Northern Saskatchewan town.
The house was larger than
anything
Granny knew
but was a shack to me.
Once a one bedroom,
it was added onto:
living room,
bathroom,
and an extra bedroom.
The kitchen was brightly
lit by a south facing window.
The UGG elevator
staring in at anyone
while they washed
dishes.
It frightened me –
I thought it looked like an
angry giant waiting to grind my bones
to make its bread.
The chrome kitchen table was
topped with cherry red…something
that looked, to me,
like someone’s floor.
Beside the table,
my
brown,
rough
grandpa would sit
on a
brown,
smooth,
round-backed, wooden chair
he had
built with his own two hands –
the same hands
that sometimes held a fiddle
and always held a whiskey.
The kitchen smelled of
stale cigarette smoke and liquor –
both of which were
plentiful
always.
When my Uncle was there,
and not in jail,
he would sit at the table, too –
that red and chrome table,
bright with sharp edges,
and he would smoke
and drink
and play cards.
We all played cards
and they would smoke
but, mostly they would drink
at that red and chrome table
with the bright,
sharp edges.
(c) R. L. Elke 2016
I love the grit and grime of everyday living juxtaposed against a tender portrait of loved ones.
I couldn’t get that fucking table out of my head as I started that piece. then I couldn’t remember if the table was from that house or a different one.
*sigh*
whatever. she had it somewhere. lol
thank you for the feed back
Are you on Facebook or Twitter?
thx. yeah. fb. i don’t do the twitter twats. Ramona L. Elke. hit me up through the marathon page and we’ll be friends…lol
Yeah, I generally only use Twitter for retweeting, expressing some sort of political outrage, or ill-advised tipsy poems. Basically, I don’t know why I tweet,
I would be totally fine with twitter for me but my school district wants us on it to “drink the cool aide” and my ODD won’t let me do what admin tells me to do. I call it twitter twats because the ppl I work around who use it are twats…for sure. It works to share stuff for sure. Tuwitt tuwoo away! lol
Wonderful tale. Doesn’t matter where the table was, or, if it was that exactly or not. It’s there now. Funny, my Grandmother was also the anchor, and, until 12th grade never spent more than a year in one school of town ever. The thing that stands out to me is the pieces “fluid.” People aren’t drifting in and out, they are flowing in and out. The whiskey is flowing. Even then memories are flowing river-like in a meandering pointless route until it hits bend or a damn or and little waterfall. Brought back a lot of memories.
Thank you. I had not noticed the river aspect to the piece but I see it now. I think I’ll add an image of the UGG elevator so people can see the “giant.” It was a terrifying image for me as a small child from that kitchen window…everything felt on edge there. I appreciate the feed back.
This was fantastic.
Thank you so much.