Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

It’s still dark outside.
The rooster is crowing his good morning at the dawn
and the two women, mother and daughter,
are already in the kitchen
banging pots and pans.
"Ben," Grandmother calls briskly,
"I'm heating the water for the coffee!"
Granddaddy, freshly shaved, goes to the big tin canister,
cracks the lid and lifts out a couple of measures
of sweet-smelling coffee beans
and dumps the beans into the sturdy grinder
hung on the wall.
As he turns the handle the kitchen fills
with the heady perfume of ground coffee
and the male grownups seat themselves around the long kitchen table--
my father, my teen-aged uncles BB and Dudley, Jim Scott the hired hand.
Granddaddy takes place of honor at the head of the table
and my mother and grandmother begin filling plates
with eggs gathered last night and fried this morning,
hot biscuits and fresh butter,
pouring endless cups of steaming black coffee
from the big blue and white speckled iron pot
and I drink my milk, still little-Jersey-cow warm
with the lovely foam on top
my mother always complains must be dirty,
as another West Texas ranch morning begins.

vivid scene with the family warmth of holding a hot cup of coffee in your hands....the stuff we cherish, the reminders of the importance of being surrounded by loved ones as we find our way

Thank you, saw, you see so well! ♥♥♥

Life before the tv, internet, the poem wraps its arms around me and takes me in I have The feelings of the reality , can smell the coffee. We had a cow years ago and can relate to the milk , so good . Times were differnt then, Your poems are often journeys I enjoyed this one very much.