Becoming Sundry

Grandmas kitchen smells like recollections,
Lavender and pastry confections 
With notes of citrus and affection
That stimulate my memory.
The oven door squeaks with children laughing 
Kettle snickers as it hisses,
Toaster sits and reminisces
Of rosy cheeks peppered with kisses 
That have long since lost their bloom.
The clock has watched our tiny catastrophes 
The morning you knocked out your tooth 
And grandad not knowing what to do
Tried to stick it back with super glue
And piece your smiles back together.
What memories the miscellaneous hold
Every nick nack and accoutrement
That any housewife could so want 
Served as trusted confidant 
And vessels of nostalgia
But grandma cannot smell those recollections
The squeaking oven door annoys
The lavender now chokes and cloys
A kettle just a kettle, a noise just a noise
And the faces once she kissed have all but faded
So in that kitchen, once her pride, her joy
In the room we learned and laughed and grew
She looks at me as if I’m something new
Says hello, then asks ‘who are you?’