Sunday Afternoon

The world turns warm amber in calming reflections,
soft tones embellish the cuddles of small talk,
sips of lemonade taken between conversations
about morning’s church fashions
and the sermon, wasn’t the pastor message good today?

Kids push open the screen door
to chase the sun’s lime streaks on the emerald lawn
as the smell of ham cooking in oven
blends with aromas of vernal bouquets,
memory tastes the past meals,
knowing how table will include
homemade cornbread, black eye peas,
yams and mashed potatoes.

Fresh baked apple pie sitting and cooling on windowsill
vanilla ice cream in freezer to spice the dessert,
the perfect period to a traditional meal of gratitude
served every Sunday afternoon.

Sky bleeds with cerulean serenity,
nostalgia sweeps across the soul,
but it all conveys as soothing sense of balance,
life imbued with harmony’s gold.

Quiet is the gathering in the heart,
holding spouse of ten years,
tomorrow the toil of desk chains
will bark another nip at the mind.

For a while the day is a sweet kiss of heaven,
an intoxicating flavor of balance
affirming what you hold dear as truth
behind a buffer of mood
where debates and news don’t intrude.

It is the special hiatus for lovers,
who found romance in traditional ways,
a time put on dream’s pedestal,
remembering all that made one feel alive.

Later will come the friends for dinner,
banters over town council’s antics
and listening to the tales of gossip.

For now, a porch is such beautiful surrender
unto the joys of simple happiness,
uncomplicated by ideology,
those cherished hours thought about all week,
wishing they could be every day.