My Grandmother's House

In my grandmother’s house,

there were no chandeliers

or glossy, marble floors.

No high ceilings

or overarching doors.

But I remember the warmth of the fire,

the comfort, the love.

Joy, and laughter,

I remember the sound of.

There were snowball fights

and movie nights, and

breakfast in bed.

Climbing trees

and tea parties, and

countless stories read.

Giggles and whispers

in the middle of the night.

Dancing and singing,

and silly little fights.

The aroma of cinnamon and spice

for every holiday, when my

grandma tucked us under the covers

and would pray.

Love.

Warmth.

My safe place.

I’ll never forget

my grandmother’s house

where memories were made.