The Collection, continued.

Coming Home

Swinging creak of screen, key jimmies
into lock and deadbolt.
Faded red door
shudders,
slams,
bounces. 

Six chubby feet and eight paws
pitter-patter, thump
and clatter to my side.
Grubby fingers sticky
with peanut butter and jelly
reach for hugs and kisses.
Cold black noses
snuffle and huff around my dusty Chucks. 

Embroidered pot holders wrap around
green bean casserole.
Smiling glance through steam, hair wispy
and wild.
Scraping the cast iron skillet
to get every last bit of breakfast
from the black bottom.
A spatula wave, egg and bacon grease
spatter across the marble island. 

For now it is spoiling of babies, my children
who are not mine.

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