alchemy in grandma’s kitchen

when the early morning sun streamed
through savory steam, wafting from a 
bubbling stockpot in my grandma’s kitchen, 
it usually meant someone was sick.
chicken on the bone, celery, carrots, 
onions, garlic simmering all day
was a proven cure for seasonal ick.

“Give her my special cough syrup”
grandpa would holler from his well-worn
chair near the front room window, 
Bonanza flashing in black, white,
and gray from the tv box…Hoss was 
always my favorite, though everyone 
said Little Joe was the best.

After supper, grandma would open 
the special cabinet, where a dark glass bottle on the top shelf was hidden, grandpa’s stash, as she eyed me, whispering
cautiously, “only because you’re sick…”

She’d measure a jigger of sweet, 
whiskey into hot lemon juice with honey… 
like magic it soothed my sore throat and helped me sleep, along with cool
camphorated oil rubbed on my chest, a sock
filled with salt warmed on the coal-fired stove wrapped around my neck, and cotton balls, dipped in garlic oil, stuffed 
in my ears…I was a loopy, smelly sight, but
by morning, miraculously, I was healed.

At 5 years old I believed my grandma 
was magical, wise, some would say, a witch.
Looking back, I am convinced that she was!


~kat

Na/GloPoWriMo 2026 Day 12 Prompt: Today, we’d like to challenge you to write your own poem that recounts a memory of a beloved relative, and something they did that echoes through your thoughts today.

And a glimmer of course…

Anyhoo…nature imitating…nature. It’s a wonder!

Much love, peace, and glimmers to you!

~kat

✨✨✨💚✨✨✨