in

It Was

It Was
It was Pasta Fagioli

on Cold Afternoons

And Country time

Lemonade on lazy summer afternoons

While I sat on that old rusty porch swing

That thing became a dream Machine.
It was sleepovers at Nonna’s with the cousins

And that faded rose wall paper.
It was nighttime prayers

Kneeling beside the very beds

Our parents had slept when they were little.
It was a closet door made of beads

And filled with a lifetime of memories.
It was books by the hundreds

And word games and the stories

Nonna told that helped

To show us who we were.
It was tinder spots

On a throw rug

And burned embers

And a rocking chair

That I am sure

Would have its own stories to tell.
It was Book Shelves and Cabinets

Handcrafted by Nonno’s skillful hands.
©Michelle R Kidwell

July.26.2016

3:35 A.M P.S.T

What do you think?

3 points

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