My Kitchen Window

My Kitchen Window

I like my kitchen window

I can see birds come and go

And when I’m done with dishes

The dishes let me go–too.

Now, I will not lie, do or die …

I hate dog’s shedding season

Black puffs of hair down the hall

Enough to make me squall.

The dishes bid me back

They want to be done too.

They drip and dry (no dishwasher, I)

And later the drips have gone away.  

My mother always had a kitchen window

And used it as she sung

Melodies from Mennonite hymnals

Which taught me how to sing.

I’m getting older now.

My mother is gone too.

I still love singing songs

Some make me go boo-hoo.

I don’t sound as good as I used to

But never mind, that’s okay.

I sing to my kitchen window,

Birds, Mom memories, and all.

My eyes are wet,

Just like the dishes.

But that’s okay,

I am the Mrs.!

I don’t do poetry well but hope you enjoy this and remember what you or your mom or dad when washing dishes.

What’s your favorite place in your house?

A bedroom doesn’t count….