Sunday, May 15, 2016

Harold Whitney Hoopes

He never skimped on the milk and cream
And he didn’t mind if it spilled over my bowl
Just like he didn't mind pretending
Astonishment when he opened the sliding door

Hours before sunrise, blackness was in the window
Above those stairs I’d crawled up so quietly, so stealth-like
Enticed from warm covers to that spot on the couch
Hoping to bewilder once again 
And for extra helpings of brown sugar

I never stopped to consider the hour
Or the frequency
Of how early he rose, or his weary frame
Pressed into a dark suit and shiny black shoes
His Welch upbringing served from a cast-iron pot

All I knew was his company and
The heavy fatness of milk and cream

-Rachael McKinnon, Milk and Cream-  

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