GRANDMA'S KITCHEN

From every corner
of Grandma’s small cottage,
I could hear it –
the old metal clock,
ticking and tocking
on the kitchen windowsill.

Grandma’s house was that peaceful.

My four year old heart drank in
the safety and serenity,
the way a parched sunflower
gratefully receives
summer rain.

Grandma’s house
showed me, child of
drinking and violence,
that  another life
was possible.

I followed that blueprint
for the rest of my life.

Looking back,
I remember the sound
of that old metal clock,
ticking and tocking,
singing its small, brave song
of peace.

For my prompt Friday at Real Toads: Grandma’s Kitchen.