Grandpa’s Saucer
Once upon a time
There was a time.
There was time
to sip hot coffee
from shallow cup saucers.
A gruff old man with a '47 Chev,
new like the day it was bought:
creamy, beige, shiny, full of curves,
taking the time
having the time
drinkin' hot coffee
from shallow cup saucers.
The kitchen was a warm bed
like a whole home in one complete:
a feeling that things were right,
and the murmur of voices
saying one to another
beyond the voice of memory.
He sat
and the glass double boiler
boiled, and he sat,
and talked a while
drinking creamy hot coffee
in shallow cup saucers.
And when that face of lines
would ask and tease a bit,
all you and memory could do
was to turn to deflect
the raise of voice and light,
the light upon my face;
to curl up inside
like that dog they had
against the register
that spewed hot coal air
like the heat of my mother's breast.
And he sat a bit
drinkin' hot coffee
from shallow cup saucers.
And time would move away.
The light would fade.
The rustle of voices would
amble on into one, drifting
and riding into memory.
For a time he sat
drinkin' hot coffee
sipin' just a little
here and there
from coffee cup saucers.
Stirred with a spoon,
now is the smell of fresh coffee
from that glass double boiler
in their set down kitchen.
It's time to drink of it,
but it's too hot to drink, -- just now.
I'll pour a bit and let it set;
and it will cool.
Lansing
October 7, 1987
Chicago Series
©1987 Grandpa’s Saucer— Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.
There was a time.
There was time
to sip hot coffee
from shallow cup saucers.
A gruff old man with a '47 Chev,
new like the day it was bought:
creamy, beige, shiny, full of curves,
taking the time
having the time
drinkin' hot coffee
from shallow cup saucers.
The kitchen was a warm bed
like a whole home in one complete:
a feeling that things were right,
and the murmur of voices
saying one to another
beyond the voice of memory.
He sat
and the glass double boiler
boiled, and he sat,
and talked a while
drinking creamy hot coffee
in shallow cup saucers.
And when that face of lines
would ask and tease a bit,
all you and memory could do
was to turn to deflect
the raise of voice and light,
the light upon my face;
to curl up inside
like that dog they had
against the register
that spewed hot coal air
like the heat of my mother's breast.
And he sat a bit
drinkin' hot coffee
from shallow cup saucers.
And time would move away.
The light would fade.
The rustle of voices would
amble on into one, drifting
and riding into memory.
For a time he sat
drinkin' hot coffee
sipin' just a little
here and there
from coffee cup saucers.
Stirred with a spoon,
now is the smell of fresh coffee
from that glass double boiler
in their set down kitchen.
It's time to drink of it,
but it's too hot to drink, -- just now.
I'll pour a bit and let it set;
and it will cool.
Lansing
October 7, 1987
Chicago Series
©1987 Grandpa’s Saucer— Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.