Up the stairs, smell apples and pears,

Gramma’s in the barn now, so who cares?

I’ll scamper on up and check it out–

What is her gloomy room all about?

Missionaries are coming here to stay

And that doesn’t happen just every day.

So the shadowed room has been made clean

Any footprints I leave will not be seen.

My Gramma’s been busy and so the dust

is swept away and I know I must

be very careful not to leave

a trace of me or she won’t believe

I’ve been in the kitchen peeling spuds

and washing dishes in lots of suds.

I see as I peer through the low keyhole

on the washstand there, a pitcher and bowl.

Gramma’s gone now thirty years.

The bowl is fine, but I see through tears

the pitcher’s cheeks resemble mine,

blemished with hairline cracks–a sign

we’re beyond repair, we’ll never again

know an innocent time back when

the worst thing could happen when Gramma came back

and rewarded rebellion with a resolute smack

to the place on my person where it did the most good.

I promised her then that I never would

without permission go tripping upstairs

to the room scented of apples and pears.

How I cherish the pitcher and bowl!

They satisfy something deep in my soul

And always remind me of Gramma.


2 thoughts on “GRAMMA’S SACRED ROOM

  1. Wow Elaine, your stories and mind are soulful. I can feel so much heart in your writings. You certainly have an insightful insight and your writings make me wish I knew more of the core of you. You’re a beautiful Godly woman. You do expose much of your core in your writings. I enjoy, thank you.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s