TRADITION
by Jane Murphy
Grandmother sits in her old rocking chair, Rocking in sync with the clock ticking there. Her hook forms each stitch as she pulls the yarn through, Just as her grandmother taught her to do. Her pattern is old, but it serves very well. She keeps her tradition, engrossed in its spell, Remembering things that her gram used to do, And feeling close to her as she does them too. Mother, who hums a familiar old tune, Patiently stirs with her worn wooden spoon Around and around in her simmering stew, Just as her mother once taught her to do. Her recipe’s old, but it serves very well. She keeps her tradition, engrossed in its spell, Remembering things that her mom used to do, And feeling close to her as she does them too. Things that our ancestors did to survive, That always sustained them and kept them alive, Became the established, traditional way That things are still done in our family today. Portraits of forebears look down from the wall. Fruits of their labor still nurture us all. We gather at table, the family all there, With thanks for the meal that we now get to share. Our customs are old, but they serve very well. We keep our traditions, engrossed in their spell, Remembering things that our folk used to do, And feeling protected as we do them too.
