The percolator
bubbling and puffing,
the clink of dishes,
feet thumping overhead,
the hiss of butter or bacon
on a hot pan…
Morning sounds,
like sprites,
hovered around my head,
until I was drawn from sleep
by their spell.
But it was the laughter,
the voices
spry with conversation,
that finally got me out of bed
and bounding up the stairs
from my grandparents’ basement.
What jokes had I missed?
What stories or discussions?
Had an aunt or uncle stopped by
with cousins in tow?
I didn’t know it then,
but now I can see
the face of God
behind the smiles of relatives,
the shadow of communion
in the buttered toast and jam,
the resurrection and the life
as I woke from sleep
and found the arms of grandma
or grandpa
open
and waiting.
