Wrapped tight around
her full breast, rounded belly.
Thin cotton fabric worn through
breakfast, lunch, dinner prep.
Pink and orange petaled flowers
scented with kielbasa and sauerkraut
and a clean, pungent salty sweat.
Our faces buried in it
she hugged us each hello.
“Sit! Sit! It’s time to eat!”
A blur of cotton and steam
from kitchen to table, “Just sit!”
Each plate piled high, the table filled
elbows jostling for room to dig in.
“Oh! The potatoes! Make room for potatoes!”
And yet one more dish squeezed in
until finally she untied the apron
hung it unceremoniously
on a nail in the door.
Apron strings, frayed ends
swinging gently to rest.

(Prompt: An End)