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The Secretary (continued)
Closing my eyes, I am whisked back in time.
I watch as my mother gently and lovingly
massages the desk with her soft white cloth and lemon scented spray.
She sings softly, as she twitters about like a canary in a cage.
The alluring aroma of coffee brewing ,
perfectly timed for my father’s arrival.
I inherited the secretary by default. No longer room in my older sibling’s home, I begged and was granted current caretaker privileges. I remember the story of how my grandmother, a single mother in the 1940’s with three sons in the war, worked in the book section of a large department store. She paid a few dollars out of each pay check until it was hers. No credit cards then. I grace the shelves with a collection of grandmother’s favorite books. I proudly dust the 1st edition copy of “Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates” by Hans Christian Anderson, while I admire my mother’s volumes of Holocaust diaries and journals.
My daydreamings are abruptly over. The kitten,
is startled by the sound of keys in the front door lock.
He darts over my lap, jarring me into the present.
The old cat stirs and stretches.
I am greeted by the alluring aroma of coffee brewing,
perfectly timed for my husband’s arrival.
Barbara Vallaster Cramer
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