Glenn Currier

 

 

 

Lucy's Home         Print this poem only

 

When we arrive, sometimes too weary

from long hard days on our roads

carrying our accumulated loads

from jobs, people and tasks too dreary

 

we approach her door

with our bags and containers

we're likely entertainers

with tales of woe and jokes and more

 

for nieces, sisters, nephews and brothers

we're thinking of food preparation

and quirks and aggravation

and memories of fathers and mothers.

 

Juggling boxes and the weight on our arms

we reach for the button to ring

to open the door and unload what we bring.

She enters the code to avoid the alarms

 

and opens the door with a smile

that twinkle dancing in her eyes

and takes our veggies and pies

that'll be gone in a while.

 

We see out back the oasis of blue

where we’ve dipped and glided

slipped and collided

with an arm or thigh or two.

 

We notice the long brown table

where we’ve eaten and fought

and cursed we were caught

with kings and queens in our stable.

 

Christmas and birthday celebrations

bring us to this marvelous place

where we share our sorrows and grace,

and storied scenes of vacations.

 

On the couches in her living room

we've argued and stretched to hear

laughed and shed a tear

and tried not to condemn or assume.

 

 

One of our favorite paths to roam

and leave our dirt on the byways

are the streets and the highways

taking us to our dear loving Lucy's home.

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Written 9-4-12