My Grandma's Oil Lamp - a Poem about Memories
Remembering Grandma: My Grandma' Oil Lamp
I don’t remember the oil lamp whose flame now dances through painted figures supported by an antique pink base that was my grandma’s.
I’m sure the lamp was there for the things I do remember . . . Like late night stories in a four poster bed with four kids cuddling and hanging on every scary word.
And popcorn balls and chocolate gravy and waving the school bus on by the next day. Washing windows on a ladder, sipping lemonade, then picking strawberries in your field
Walking to the general store, putting peanuts in my coke, and going back to sit on the tall porch with the metal chairs where we would sit and be silly and I would think that you’re cool.
Loving the white picket fence and the big bell standing out in the middle of the yard and walking with you across the dirt road to the old fashioned post office to check on the mail.
The cold cellar with canned pickles and tomatoes and green beans—and the stuffed freezer like mine is now. I remember the hallway lined with photos . . . family pics—I do that now, too.
I remember the lamp with the scene that circled with a light behind. What happened to that? I remember the quilts and the garden and the floppy, straw hat that you wore. And that now is hanging on my wall.
I remember visits from college and your saying that I should come spend the night and we'd go to town, run around and have a good time. You were cool. And we never did that.
I remember so much and am left with the beautiful oil lamp that I don’t remember from your house. But every day the dancing light reminds me, and I remember all that's important. The times with you.
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