Our Children

“Wife, they called on the telephone—

the little ones are coming.

Prepare the minced meat,

we’ll make some meatballs.”

One wants leek pie,

another spinach pie.

Beautiful red peppers—

those will be stuffed.

We cleared some space then

so no one would get hurt.

Grandmother flies with joy

and grandfather follows behind.

“Leave the kitchen now,

go bring the wine

and the big baking pan

for the cheese pie we make.”

Grandfather brings the ingredients,

but he wants to help as well.

“Leave the kitchen now—

go and prepare the house.”

The house fills with fragrance

from all the aromas:

the pies, the salads,

and the stuffed peppers.

The doorbell rings,

and the two of them run.

Suitcases everywhere,

with diapers and wipers.

They carried toys,

decorations and little trinkets,

small bottles and big bottles—

bottles of milk for the little ones.

The house fills with joy;

loneliness disappears.

The four little ones run

toward grandfather and grandmother.

“I love you, Babo,”

a tiny voice is heard.

“Me too, me too,”

says the other little one.

They all run toward us

to hug us tight,

so grandfather and grandmother

may forget their aches.

The parents complain,

“Hey, we are here too.”

“Yes, yes, we know—

watch that little one.”

“Babo,” say the older ones,

“you are a very good cook.”

Grandmother jumps with joy—

“next time it will be even better.”

And when everyone leaves

and the house is set in order,

only grandfather and grandmother remain

until the next time.

Yet we leave their little traces—

their tiny hand prints

upon the mirrors,

with laughter and joy.

We thank God

who allowed us to reach this day.

May we have many more good years

so we can do it all again.