Sunday Brunch

Sitting in a Cracker Barrel
filled to the brim with conversation
and Sunday after church
brunch goers,
my eyes are fixated
as I gaze over the shoulders
of our dining companions
at a mother
dark hair, matching eyes
cradling her maybe two-year old daughter.
She gently, rocking
the lass on her lap,
head resting to her breast.
Softly whispering
the things
that mothers whisper.

Still, I try not to stare,
but I know I do
at the charm of this mother
and her child.
Is it because they make me feel young?
Or is it because of the oft repeated
and simple beauty of a mother
tenderly nurturing her child?

And on the way out
passing by their table,
the daughter looks up
staring at me an old man
and his greying beard.
And inside I laugh,
but outside,
I wink.

Para la madre
y la hija preciosa.

The best part of
Sunday brunch.