Chilly December evening
during Christmas break from school,
tagging along with Grampa
to the senior swimming pool,

Crawling and stroking down wavy lanes,
heated water ‘neath heavenly paths,
Then wrapped in terry – shoulder to knees –
and transported from car to bath,

Deliciously snug in flannelly fuzz,
pad to the kitchen on fleecy feet,
recline at the table, hot cocoa before me,
anticipating a glorious treat:

Gramma’s hot buttered toast,
wearing a cinnamon-sugar coat.
The first crunchy, delectable bite
filling my mouth with grand delight.

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NaPoWriMo — Day Six:  Write a poem about food. This could be a poem about a particular food, or about your relationship to food in general.

As I sit and reminisce I can smell the buttery cinnamon wafting from the hot toast.  I can remember being warm – inside and out.  I wonder what part food plays in the memories I helped make for my kids.  If I am blessed one day to have grandchildren, cinnamon toast is going to be on the menu.

 

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