Sunday Dinner

Comments (0) Issue 1, Poetry, Writing

By Krissy Bradley


Grandfather’s Guinness grows on our maple tree

Like shiny coins or crisp bills

His glass half full or mostly half empty

As he sits in a leaning house with broken window sills


While Mother’s meatballs simmer in sauce

Handmade with love and garlic so sweet

The magic she makes and the fragrance that wafts

Makes Dad sail to the kitchen to kiss her cheek


Frankie walks in with his new girl in tow

Dad thinks she’s as lovely as a young Betty Grable

Mom straightens her apron and fixes her bow

With thoughts of grandchildren at her table


My sister and I set out the best china

We give the fancy silver a quick polish

Grandfather sobers and says “Nothing could be finer”

We all smile with love as Dad passes the first dish

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