by Michael Escoubas
Momma set the table
at the meadow’s edge where
the emerald grass became
a carpet for our feet. She
placed a perppermint cloth on it.
We donned our prettiest tea
dresses: her sheer beige shift
moved gracefully with the breath
whispered by the wind. I wore pink,
like my oversized Teddy Bear,
leaning over watching everything.
As I pour warm tea in tiny
cups, Momma holds the lid in place.
We each taste delicate bites
of fresh-baked sugar cookies arranged
just so on miniature plates. Summer’s
freshness captured in a moment
shared—a moment when I knew
for sure, my Momma cared.
Published in Steve Henderson in Poetry and Paint, by Michael Escoubas.
It is available from the author. You may contact him at firstname.lastname@example.org