*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2119650
by Rhyssa
Rated: E · Poetry · Family · #2119650
my mother doesn't cook anymore, but my father has started making her waffles for breakfast
this morning,
I woke with the sun
warm against my cheek,
a Chopin nocturne
dancing in my ears,
the scent of waffles
wafting to my tongue,
and in that moment
between sleeping and awake—
I was five years old
and it was the last summer day
before I would climb
a school bus (that first step
taller than my knee)
in a blue dress,
the smell of waffles and maple syrup
drifting from my hair all day
with the promise of home again.

line count: 18
© Copyright 2017 Rhyssa (sadilou at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Log in to Leave Feedback
Username:
Password:
Not a Member?
Signup right now, for free!
All accounts include:
*Bullet* FREE Email @Writing.Com!
*Bullet* FREE Portfolio Services!
Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2119650