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Poem by Jade Blackmore – Grandma’s Dining Room Cabinet April 7, 2020

Posted by vscorpiozine in 1960s, Jade Blackmore, poems, poems about families, poetry, Veteran Poets.
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Grandma’s Dining Room Cabinet

It was there in the background of every family photo – the sliding doors looked like glass, but moved at the touch of a finger, like plastic.

The contents were for show, a cornucopia of memories.The serving dishes and silver-edged white-plates were stacked way back in the kitchen cabinets,And the portly relatives we only saw at Christmas and Thanksgiving brought them out of hiding.

The cabinet came from Montgomery Wards or Sears. Delivery day was always an event, and Grandpa would direct (and correct) the deliverymen until Grandma calmed him down. She give the guys a tip of buck or two before they left, but made sure Grandpa didn’t see. (“It’s their job,” he would say sometimes, “They already get paid enough.”)

The blond sides of the cabinets felt like wood grain, but the bottom drawers were heavy like wood when the little cousins playfully pulled them open after dessert.
The wine glasses and carafes line the first shelf of the cabinet, resting on an old Christmas tablecloth with a holly and berry pattern.  

Framed photos from holidays past line the second shelf.
Grandma and her brothers and sisters in their polyester finery posing around the family matriarch, the great-Grandma we only saw at anniversaries, weddings and funeral dinners in red-boothed banquet halls,
Cousins in pleated, green plaid Catholic school uniforms,An Easter line-up with all the kids sitting on the plastic-covered couch – the baby cries as the teen cousin rolls her eyes.

The photographs of Grandma are out of my reach now,
The wine glasses dispersed to recipients unknown,
It’s been so long the memories, the pictures in my mind, are faint,
But the feelings they conjure bring tears,
And that’s all I have to remember her by.