My Haunts

My grama lives in the bread box,
An old, copper faced one
That guarded bread and cookies.

My father abides in the storm filled sky
When the sun breaks free
Of the deep amethyst clouds,
creating a prophetic blue streak.

They speak to me.

When I waste food carelessly
Or say "good enough" when I know it's not,
The bread box door falls open.
Clang! Banging on the counter!
I jump! Grama's making me think.
Did I speed through a task or waste food?
She reminds me to recycle more carefully.
Hello, Grama!
I smile, shrug my shoulders
And then get the job done right.
Thank you, Grama, for caring.

Grama drops the bread box door
When Mom, her daughter, is over
Or when Uncle, her son, visits
And sometimes, just to say
Granddaughter, hello!

The dreary days of rain and storms
Make work seem long and me feel worn.
When, suddenly, the sun bursts out
To light my way,
Brightening my day.
Hello Daughter,
I hear Daddy say!

Everything's not always fun,
You have a job that must be done.
Then, from behind the clouds, you say
Time to play will come your way.
Life's not always dark and dreary,
You won't always be in a hurry.
Thank you Daddy, for the smile.

Daddy's low, mumbling voice
is in the warm roar of my motorcycle
and the song my tires sing
on a sunny day.

I miss them,
his laugh, her wit,
but I know they love me,
even still.
They reach out
to try and guide me to be safe
and to do each task well.