by Gary Kristiansen
Ontario, Canada

On those cold winter days the smells of freshly baked banana bread,
Home made beans, filled her kitchen
We sipped tea, talked about bargains from the farmer's market
Still in netted bags her bounty hung from the chair

She would open the pantry, take out flour and onions for fish cakes
Settle her weight into the chair, ask how we were
Panting to catch her breath, perspiration trickling from her brow
As she added salt to the water and chewed on some dulce

There was always a smile on the deep lines of her face
An instant acknowledgment that you were home
As memories of childhood visited us like friendly ghosts
Fresh butter melted on warm slices of bread

When I pass the house now on the bus
I look at the windows that conceal and still hold the time she was there
Days of bread and butter, memories and ghosts

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