(c) pauchi

Measuring Joy

(c) pauchi

(with gratitude to Camay Murphy)

My grandmother put a little sugar in everything she cooked.
A teaspoon here, a pinch there, a whole cup in her apple pie.

And we ate everything.
And loved it.

I grew up to believe that all food was delicious,
that mealtime was never to be missed,

and because I knew that everything
my grandmother cooked was graced with love,

no matter what happened during the day,
dinner healed with its sweetness.

Every night I went to bed
with that taste in my mouth

and every morning I met the school bus,

Michael S. Glaser lives inΒ St. Mary’s City, Md.

Posted in: Poetry, The Art of Dying

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