Grandma
by JoEllen Moldoff
stands in her kitchen,
at the chipped enamel stove
dressed in her large-pocket apron.
It is the 40s in Brooklyn.
As always on Saturdays
the family gathers
around her oak table
set with extra large bowls and silverware.
Her three sons have returned from war,
all safe,
and there is security
in Grandma’s chicken soup.
She stands at her post
stirring the large pot,
preparing our futures
ladling gratitude
into every bowl.
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You certainly described by Grandma – even though she “stirred her pot” in Pomona, California. Thanks for the sweet recollections, JoEllen.
Love this poem, JoEllen, particularly your observation that Grandma continues to stand “at her post” even as “her three sons have returned from war” — and that she ladles her “gratitude into every bowl.” You’ve expressed so well the relief that fills a room when a loved one returns from far away, safe and sound.
Couldn’t agree more with Madie and Ed. Greetings from Germany where both my grandmas heroically served at their posts.