The highchair beside the kitchen door,
my domain,;vantage point of my world.
On the linoleum checker board floor,
I played until my knees were sore.
The center of the world to me,
I learned to know as my mother
cooked and cleaned while I was free,
to grow into what I might be.
A world consisting of black and white,
as appropriate as the days television.
Images remembered vivid and bright,
raised by my mother in love and light.
Stoic Poetry
Through The Cracked Window (Revisited) 