Great Grandma's Bowl


It's been in the family forever.
I used to make trifle in it.
hours
days
weeks
months
or maybe years
ago.

I told the kids,
don't break it.
Scottish/Irish
heritage
encased
in fragile 
glass.

I hold 
it 
familiar
with the
weight
and 
memories.

I pull out chips
and pour
them 
into the bowl.

The kiddos
eyes are 
huge.

"go ahead,"

they
confirm
by their glances
at one another
Crazy!

we hardly 
ever eat chips
they longingly
look

I smile and nod

out of the bowl
that crossed the
ocean
over 100
years ago
they delicately
pull chips
individually

they chew
slowly
savoring the salt
the moment
of the unprecedented
the out of the 
ordinary.

 

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