being here, cozily enclosed between books and fire, piano and harp, the picturey wall and the wide-window view, is all I need.
Chores were done, supper was cooking, and dad had washed his hands. He hunched his body back in the saggy-seated rocker in the dining room of the brick farmhouse. Then reached over to the cluttered stand he had built, himself, and picked up the Marine Band Harmonica. His arms and hands wrapped around the instrument,Continue reading “Poem: Chores Were Done”