Grandma’s Kitchen – a poem by Margaret Taylor-Ulizio

Grandma's Kitchen

Formica green and gold
around the table
the silver edge withstanding
her fingers as they rolled
and tapped in time,
as the gnarly knots
drummed their tune.
 
Gnocchi and meatballs,
all homemade,
turned with fingers
and protruding knuckles
whose strength abides
amid the rows of hand-cut pasta
and the balls of meat and dough.
 
A window and a sink
where plastic leaves and pink blossoms
rest in a statue of Mary,
a religious icon transformed,
put to good use,
and doing its work 
as the water flows.
 
A back door and a dog,
the yard of pavement
where I bounced a ball
with nothing else to do,
alone in the world, yet
there was always a seat,
even if the chairs were few.
 

Margaret Taylor-Ulizio is a canon lawyer, part-time Religious Studies instructor, volunteer wildlife rehabilitator and writer from New Jersey. Her poetry is published in Merion West, San Antonio Review, Amethyst Review, The Orchard Poetry Journal, One Art among others.