Happiness’ Kiss: Then Back to Reality

Writing... getting into a flow... then BAM! The pizza delivery man.

I truly think he’s an angel, born to threes. I was twenty-two minutes shy from my mother’s release. Matters not, as I have enough drive. Cares not, as I find myself soon to arrive. Dreams and fantasies of a rich home draped in lavender, my heart yearns for such a patter. With little feet running on hardwood�"

…

The delivery boy can’t find his target. A woman walking a german-shepherd calls to me from my perch on the balcony, “Excuse me! You up there, what is your address?”

“Seventy-two maple,” I reply. 

“That’s it, did you order something?”

“No.”

“Must be for the first-floor, oh! There you go!” She tugs at her hat, and pulls her hound into the road as the pizza guy crosses the street and greets my new downstairs neighbor. The german-shepherd begins barking, setting off the large dog the house over. 

A quant exchange indeed, pulling my attention in totality. Pulled away from my tip-tap-typing into the real world of small-town life. Easy exchanges, confirmative greetings, people do care here. Life is slower here, but it is in no way less lovely here. In fact, I think this sleepy town will win my heart, if it hasn't already. 

My grandmother grew up here, her mother an immigrant from Germany, with an arranged marriage to a man thrice her age. His first wife died, leaving seven children behind. Kathleen would head the role as woman of the house, while staring the ‘children’ in the mouth. With some being just as old as she. Alice was my grandmother’s name, last born to these. Oh how I now love the name, old enough to star in a medieval couplet, but growing up I fear I did not sustain. I had little chance to be with her, though just under two hours away. I wasn’t allowed to love her, a strange twisted game. 

…

Little mouths to feed with little tummies that need to eat. How can I afford such retreat? When will such a day be mine? How much longer must I survive, as woman alone on the balcony to stew. Morning, evening, afternoon. Here, here, here, here, I shall sit and wait. I shall write and debate, thanking heaven for all it’s goodness sake.

Author's Note

Is this a poem? A prose? A story? Memoir? Blended and mixed, a snippit of my reality.

Reviews

[DIVYA]

Its very nicely written. I would not want to categorize it. A great touch of family history and the background of a small town make it an interesting read. Personally, I love rhyming, so I really enjoyed this read. Thank you for sharing something different to read, today.

[Grumpie]

You really make my day! Thank you so much, I'm all smiles.

[DIVYA]

You're welcome. I'm glad I could make the day better. Keep sharing.

[Ms claws]

I love the sporadic rhyming! Some poets love rhyme, some don't.
It's like fingerprints.
The story is really good! Sad but sweet in its way.
Kathleen is Alice's mother?

[Grumpie]

Thank you! I appreciate you seeing my mark, and yes! I never met her, but it is nice to hear trickles of stories to the ancestors that have past.

[MarthaKlokke]

Well done Grumpie. Story well told.

[Arundass TP]

Beautifully penned creation. Enjoyed reading

[Kady R.]

What a heartfelt write!!!

There's so much that I enjoyed while reading this poem, memoir, story. I also understand what it means to be a single lady (I'm divorced). Its quite the simple life which I enjoy.

It's wonderful to read your work, I truly enjoyed reading about your new life in the sleepy town.

Thanks for sharing a part of yourself🤗🤗🤗

[Grumpie]

You are so kind! Thank you for the friendship, I look forward to reading more of your work!

[Kady R.]

Anytime🤗🤗🤗

[Grumpie]

'snipbit' oops... actually, why not snippit?