Warm glowing crackles from the stone hearth
as the circle begins to grow.
Murmuring voices gather into lilting laughter and stories of growing old.
The davenport is getting seedy from generations of hands and bodies.
Oils that have left behind their traces; ghosts of friends and family.
The walls have been many colors,
once even a fake wood.
The chip in the corner from children’s scuffling
tells a rainbow story of passing time.
There is a sturdy deep red rocker sitting where
the enfolding over-stuffed recliner used to be.
It finally reached its end,
when Granma could feel the springs.
Its twin is losing the floral skirt,
but still carries enough fluff for Grandpa’s bones.
On the table, in the middle,
sits the perpetual monopoly game
that has entertained so many rainy days.
In the air, the smell of dinner wafting through
the house making everyone’s mouth water
with thoughts of roast turkey,
and pumpkin pie.
August 14, 2016