On entering, we are assailed by the smells:
sausage and sage, butter, brown sugar,
Then the warmth
oven on long before dawn,
steam rising from various sized pots…
not to mention body heat—
for everyone gathers here in this room.
Johnny Mathis, Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole
echo from the wooden console radio
in the next room;
two sisters croon out their favorites;
a third—younger—swoons, exclaiming once again
how she “loves that skinny Italian boy from Jersey.”
A cacophony of voices and laughter
rise and fall.
The house becomes a budding entity
breathing, beating with the life
of those gathered here…
We carry these images from our past...
family, friends, gatherings
spinning together as one.
Defining; reminding where we come from,
who we are
...and we pass it forward
to our children,
this gift of unconditional love
in a place we call ‘home.’
© Ginny Brannan 2014