Apron on, I lean over the fruit bowl, where a fat quince sits. I breathe in its floral scent, so sweet and slightly mysterious. It’s a FINAL moment of stillness before this day of cooking. I walk through the house, feeling the ghosts of the past. They HOVER just beyond my sight, ghostly voices that SHOUT and murmur in my ears. I can even hear dogs of days gone by, underfoot, hopeful, waiting to CHOMP on any stray bit that falls to the floor. Heart and mind CHOCK full of memories. So much past, so many thanks.

Georg’ann

He sleeps under the white COVER,
Curled in a cotton CLOTH nest.
His daughter in the kitchen
making CHOPS, her seagull
laugh rings through the house.
Accompanied by her daughters
playing Hallelujah on the piano.
Side by side. Occasional gruff
chortle from their father.
Me sitting in this still room
watching his breath raise
the blanket, heart CHOCK full.
Thankful for belonging here.

Heather