top of page
Search

Grandma's House

by STEPHANIE VON BULOW - November 21, 2020



Unlike many kids,

I never got to visit Grandma’s house.

She lived too far away,

8,500 miles to be exact.


Sunday afternoons weren’t spent

laughing and cooking with Grandma.

Not Grandpa either;

he too was far away.


Now they’re here,

8 miles to be exact.

And every Wednesday is in fact

filled with laughter and cooking.


The stale scent of Grandpa’s cigars

the sweet linger of Grandma’s perfume,

both fill my nose as I arrive.

At last, Grandma’s house.


I may not be a child;

this may not be a childish memory,

but as I age,

one day it will be.

Recent Posts

See All

Isabelle Snyder - May 5, 2023 Time is everywhere. You hear it when you hear the ticking of a clock. The rhythm is steady, like the beating of a heart, slowly tricking you into thinking you have just a

May 5, 2023 When I go to college and am all alone I'm going to miss the place we all call home. Sitting at the table while all cracking jokes Inhaling the smell of turkey being smoked Hearing the soun

Josh Young - April 13, 2023 Don’t feel ↓ Look ⟳. It’s → there Where you ← it, Chin ↑

bottom of page