If you’ve been following along, this post is part of a (nearly) once-a-day-month-long-blogging-brouhaha with my pals Amanda Hollinger, Monica Wyche, and Ami Worthen.
Yes, my 30 days (and then some) are complete. But I’m not stopping. (Special thanks to the Accidental Cootchie Mama.)
As stressful as it’s been at times, it feels good to stick with something that in the end, always gives me pleasure and peace of mind.
Like Milk in the Fridge
Like milk in the fridge
That’s what she said
In response to my description
Of you sitting in your avocado chair
In a direct line with the front door
What I said exactly was
That image of you
Sitting there, watching the Yankees
Repacking your corn cob pipe
Reading the paper
Was certainty
Was safety
Was comfort itself
No matter that scores of times
I ran in and out of the house
Right by you in that chair
With little more than a “see ya”
Over my shoulder
The image of you in your chair remains
Even now
Walking into my house
After days spent away
I’m greeted by
The smell of still air
The vague chill of empty
A pile of mail in hand
I open curtains, turn on lights
Unpack
Walk room to room
I am not searching for you
Any more than I would search
The fridge for milk I know is not there
Instead I imagine you hear me
Prattling on about my everyday
Asking your usual question
“Are you working hard?”
I want to lay my answer at your feet
Crawl into your lap
Lean every part of me into you
So I know one thing for sure
jennybadman.com 
7 responses to “Day 30: Like Milk in the Fridge”
Absolutely beautiful.
Thank you, Cheryl!
You are welcome!
Love this, Jenny… Reminders, remembers, comfort, safety-like a warm blanket. Where do we find it again? I imagine in the blanket of our own soul… Then we can find it with others.
Thanks, B. Love that image of finding comfort in the blanket of our own souls. Thanks for being part of my journey. : )
Oh this was such a delight to read this morning….really engender some of my own memories…thanks!
Thank you! Love to hear that anything I write sparks memories for others.