Homage

by Bob Grove

Bleak skies hover over an old home

standing in silence, awaiting final darkness.

Once a proud family fortress

Sanctuary for her loved ones.            

The bite of winter’s night left no sting

a hot poker stirred fireplace embers.

Crackling coals warmed hearth and hearts,

hickory smoke wound from the chimney.

Musk of baked bread wafted through her halls

a mother’s face smiled above a blue-rimmed platter

steaming potatoes and succulent roast

soft oven mittens shrouded her frail hands.

But now the pantry is bare

cold ashes line the dusty hearth.

Cobwebs, dampness, musty rooms.

Echoes of footsteps long silent.

A swing sways below a garden branch;

the children, too, have grown old.

The old home trembles under winter’s howl,

Succumbing to its icy mantle.a