Monday Poem


Grandpas Cup

—for Catherine Regec Mraz

this is how I most
remember her I’d have been
maybe eight, I open the door
to her house and hear
the latch click,
clock tick
we have tea at her table
I ask for grandpa’s cup
which she brings from her pantry shelf
and sets upon the table
pours hot water into its metal
beige-enameled steam-blessed bowl
with light-green rim
adds teabag a little sugar
I stir and sip as she in
Slovak-embellished English,
smiling, asks about my day and life
in the fragrant atmosphere
of chicken boiling in the soup
she made so well,
and calls me

………… I have that cup

—when the house was sold
after they’d gone we were gifted
with a last-chance tour
of rooms so simply lived in
and there’s my grandfather’s cup
on the shelf where he’d left it
near his wife’s tea and sugar
as was anciently told
I asked and it was given

Jim Culleny