Sift

I love the way it rolls off the tongue,

Gentle, forgiving, smooth as glass.

Clean white kitchen, pale light pours through the windows.

Cool morning, everything is still at rest.

Bare feet on tile, fresh breeze

Baking bread for the week, a man.

Sifting flour.

The simple act, so satisfying and pure.

Dusty attic, pine floors.

Stained window pane.

Hatbox, green with an old piece of ribbon on top,

Thick and satin.  

Stuffed full of dog eared photographs, old letters.

Dated stamps, memories.

A grandmother, laugh lines,

Crinkled eyes.

Faded denim jeans, fraying.

Legs crossed, middle of the room,

A grin breaks across the face,

Sifting.