Apron Strings

The sweet part of an onion
stings. When you won't
call home, I cut slices
under water.

Setting plates around the table
one breaded breast enough for two,
but not enough for Christmas.

Heaven invites us to save
a chair, the number of chairs
to make a party, astronomical.

Old wounds don't need salt.
Grace, a feast for the eyes.
Will SchmitComment