Aunt Ida Mae

This is another class assignment. We all wrote poems about a special place. It is amazing how many details you can recall when you look inside your heart to find a place that is special. I found mine. What's yours? Aunt Ida Mae's Kitchen Cool mountain mornings, bright light makes dust sparkle in the air like fireflies. Creaky screen door, gateway to coffee. Brings in the murmur of morning conversation. Bacon sizzles, pot gurgles, Old time country classics croon from the record player, down the hall. The kitchen wakes up as the refrigerator Hums. Warm brown linoleum, Smooth from years of feet, Lays underneath like the fancy white saucer, For my flowered cup. I get coffee with lots of milk and sneak a deviled egg. It wouldn't fit on the platter. Pictures on the fridge fill in the conversation lulls, the faint glow from the oven light shines on the cake stands, They won't be empty long. My pickled beets sit silently in rows, Standing guard in their pantry. Waiting for their moment of glory, on the supper table this afternoon. No one leaves hungry. Moments creep into my mind like thorns, now that these mornings are gone. Why do all good people go away too soon?