Home.

Hearth bread
And
Open
Doors
Mead and honey
Butter
Soft
Dipped into
By
Love’s
Creation
Oranges
Rolling ever off wooden tables
Rolling tumbling onto the floor
Zest and juice spilling
Tiptoe ever outward
On Word catching
Squeaks in floorboards
Listen
Mother’s
Laughter
In the making
Her stewpot
Overflowing
Overfilled
2 brims
Of saucers spread out over time and creation
You are patienter than me.

speak.

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