Poem for the Hobnail Lamp

Grandma used to write her letters

By the light of the hobnail lamp—

White and reminiscent of

The days of Marilyn Monroe and

Home-cooked cobblers

That would

Transform the bruised wooden house

With a scent of

Cinnamon-sprinkled,

Sugar-glazed

Peaches—

Gooey and stained by the spices—

Stained the color of a hungry smile.

Grandma always identified

With those peaches

And the Marilyn Monroe

Hobnail lamp

Always identified with her.

 

The lamp is still here—

By my bed so

I guess

I have

                        All three...

Even though I’m allergic to peaches.