The boarding house she owned was big and foreboding,
with small suites that smelled of vinegar and turpentine.
I remember the long hallway with the umbrella tree,
and the paisley wallpaper, gaudy, large but with the
feeling of belonging.
the silver teapot and the thin china plates,
the rotating lamp that looked like a forest fire,
the outside window ledges covered in coal dust,
the octopus-like furnace in the basement.

Just down the street, the television store
where I saw my first T.V,
my face pressed against the window
to catch a glimpse of fuzzy, out-of-focus images of
cowboys and Donald Duck.

And that special feeling of comfort and love that only a trip
to Grandma's house can bring.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul