Satisfying Only Necessities
House I grew up in: art gallery, library, lyceum.
I traipsed across your cold concrete floors,
Sat quietly next to my brothers and sister,
Innocently waiting for breakfast.
My father, constantly creating a canvas in his mind,
Flipped pancakes on a hot griddle.
The antidotes to burnt blackened dough,
Maple syrup and orange juice, a bittersweet pleasure.
The kitchen, an unfinished abstract painting,
Walls dripping spattered batter.
Hazy grey smoke hanging in the air mystically,
Father whistling My Blue Heaven.
The white walls have long crumbled,
The concrete foundation turned to dust.
Now, the image no more than an aesthetic illusion,
Stored in the rural landscape of rustic memory.
Victor Henry's work has appeared in various small press magazines, anthologies, and Ezines. He holds two earned master's degrees, enjoys working as a reference librarian, is a Vietnam veteran, and a member of Veterans for Peace.
