Grandma Rose's Kitchen
©1994 Joe Irrera
 
Life was clearly wrongs and rights
Coffee black and tablecloth white
I still see her bent over her stove
In Grandma Rose's Kitchen

She'd stir the sauce and have a taste
A peaceful sureness in her face
Smell of garlic and oregano
In Grandma Rose's kitchen

     Table crowded with our family
     Homemade red wine, with spaghetti
     She'd say, "Have some bread. Your face looks thin."
     Sharp eyes measured every bite
     She'd say, "God bless your appetite"
     In her warm gaze you're a child again
     In her kitchen

It's how I think of holidays
Aunts, and uncles, and cousins came
Like pictures on her wall, time froze
In Grandma Rose's kitchen

"Mama, sit," my dad would plead
She never would sit down to eat
Always one more pot to soak
In Grandma Rose's kitchen

     Folding chairs and dishes clatter
     Loud Italian jokes and laughter
     We shared bits of family history
     She might mention Grandpa Joe
     Gone thirty years, God rest his soul
     Sometimes she'd cry like he was there last week
     In her kitchen

In my own kitchen, now I stir
Spaghetti sauce and think of her
The memories rise up through my nose
It's Grandma Rose's kitchen