You met me <br />and I had given up. <br /> <br />You met me <br />and I took out the good china <br />from Grandma's hutch; <br /> <br />her gold-plated knives, forks and spoons <br />and the silver, <br />toasting you <br />that summer night <br />had both of us playing house. <br /> <br />I was the gourmet cook, <br />you were eating hearty <br />and wolfed down lustily my heart; <br /> <br />made me forget giving up <br />for giving it up <br />happily; <br />mostly from memory <br />and you were kind enough <br />not to notice <br />how awkwardly <br />and how long <br />my breathing took <br />to run to smooth. <br /> <br />It was the conversation <br />I believe <br />late into the night <br />that over-came me <br />re-mending those broken heart pieces <br />which laid themselves out carefully <br />on my dining room <br />table; <br />festooned <br />with grandma's <br />silver and gold-plated spoons. <br /> <br />We have gone on now through <br />paper, wood <br />and silver anniversaries; <br />golden <br />on our horizon; <br />nearing fifty years. <br /> <br />Thanks Grandma <br />for the silver-ware <br />and for him.<br /><br />Lonnie Hicks<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/grandma-s-silver/
