A nice, small space -
Filled to the brim with ceramic cows
and decorated plates,
My mother stands in it
Over a pot and pan,
fan whirring as not to disturb the smoke detector
My grandmother is there -
hovering asa spirit, keeping an eye on the food
that undoubtfully was once hers
Nix the canned green beans, hardly even heated
Hours later, bellies filled
Dirty dishes herd the cows