Nostalgia | pictured words

Life’s View from My Recliner

The chair Mom rocked me in when I was a baby,
and when I wasn’t ready for her to stop.

The chair from which Grandma would flash that playful grin at me,
holding out the adorable ceramic kitten she would let me hold,
as long as I was in her lap. (That kitten is now mine.)

Decorative pillows Deanna brought home from Nepal for me
that now enjoy both my mom’s and my grandma’s touch.

The Tiffany-style lamp Dad turned from gas to electric,
and that now throws rainbows across my floor and onto my walls

and that sits atop the chess table he made
and the box that holds the wooden chess pieces.

The African violets started by my father-in-law.
They received the best upbringing, as he stroked and spoke to them.

Large windows that let in sun’s cheer, even as the scenes change
outside them. Visitors that grace those scenes …

colorful, talkative birds; various kinds of squirrels; chipmunks; deer;
delivery trucks that had halted during the pandemic;

moms and dads and grandparents pushing strollers or walking dogs;
children riding bikes;
the love of my life cleaning the gutters before tonight’s expected storm.

© Marie Elena Good 2025

Robert Lee Brewer’s April 2025 PAD
Day 2 prompt: From where I sit

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May 12, 2019

Sentimental Longing

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nos·tal·gia /näˈstaljə,nəˈstaljə/ – noun.
A sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.

I’d say that everyone looks back on their childhood fondly.
But the unfortunate truth is that is unfortunately untrue,
and that unfortunate truth means I was truly fortunate.
In spite of that wording being almost comically convoluted,
it is written through tears of genuine gratitude.

My parents were simple and loving.
They infused me with a love for simple things.
Perhaps it was the times. Just the way life was.

But I don’t think so.
I think if they were to start over,
this time would be no different.
Family would still be priority.
There would still be no such thing as coming home
to an empty house.
Music would still fill the soul.
All my love, and love me always would still grace every note
in every house we call home.
I love you. You know that.
Yes Mom. I do know that. You lived it every day,
even when Alzheimer’s threatened to erase us
like chalk on a board,
leaving only ghostly swipes.

Longing to return to childhood
for one more day. One more hug.
One more chance to watch Mighty Mouse
T-boned on the floor with Dad,
my head using his tummy as a pillow.
One more turn to curl up in Mom’s lap,
rocked in the very chair that now sits across from me
as I write this poem, longing to hear her voice.
“I love you. You know that.”

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Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I miss your beautiful face and gentle love.

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November 18, 2018

HOLIDAY BLESSINGS ON PARADE

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Oh the feasts that we would eat –
Grandma’s stuffing can’t be beat!
Turkey carved and on display,
Guesses on “what does it weigh?”

Yams and hams and pumpkin pies,
And (to figures’ great demise}
Aunt Peg’s “Goop,” and Mom’s cheesecake.
Hopeful leftovers to take!

TV playing football games,
Watched by mostly men named James.
Conversations, hugs, and laughs.
Later-treasured photographs.

P.S. Once-upon-a-time, there were so many men/boys named James in our family, it became a running joke. Grandpa, 2 uncles, Dad, and two cousins (one nicknamed Punk)! 😀

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