Read me the paper Uncle
Loud enough to hear in the kitchen
Touch it for me, turn those pages
Aunties and I are cooking the dinner
hands must be kept clean.
But in your place by the fire
the beige recliner squeaks
on the back-beat of your rocking,
toes slide in and out of slippers
leather stretched out and soft
as a first basemen’s glove
Calloused hands turn each inky page
of the Sunday review
headlines shout at us
while we chop onions
Shannon P. Laws, born in Seattle, Washington, lives and writes in the Pacific Northwest. Author of three poetry books, "Madrona Grove", "Odd Little Things", and "Fallen" and an audiobook of her select mid-life dating satire poems, "You Love Me, Your Love Me Not". For seven years she produced award-winning community radio programs that promoted the PNW music/art community. Shannon's other interests include operating her voice-over company, Chickadee Productions, and Poetry Club. Since 2015 Poetry Club is dedicated to the neighborhood discussion and sharing of poetry.
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2 thoughts on “Poem: Ink Stained Hands”
Love the duet of goings on in this poem. Captures a precious family moment.
Love the duet of goings on in this poem. Captures a precious family moment.
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Thank you still life, for all your visits and great comments. My Uncle, would really shout out the stories to us. Its a warm memory.
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