POEM: The Stove


She is old
and grey
yet her warmth
brings us closer in winter
Her hot voice
fills the kitchen
even the pots
love her touch
I was raised by laughter
taught how to walk
in the yellow shoes
of her radiant smile
After the kitchen floor grew
She was the first to move out
She was old
and charcoaled with humility
Now we no longer laugh anymore
and she is a painting
on the walls of my memory

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