If you’re a football fan, I’m sure you’re aware of the Sugar Bowl. And if you have a sweet tooth, I’m sure you’re a fan of the sugar bowl.
So…why do I bring it up? Well, thanks for asking. Today’s poetic piece is one of reminiscence and rose-colored glasses. It’s a short walk down a memory road…sitting beside the road in the shade of some Kansas cottonwoods. I remember hearing something on the radio in my little, bronze Ford Maverick that made me think of how little kids like to put their fingers in the sugar bowl. That’s all it took…I pulled over and wrote the first thoughts that came into my head.
Like most of my words from back then, this poem isn’t autobiographical. It isn’t my actual family I’m writing about. It’s just a made-up memory. But I’ll bet it’s very real for somebody. If you have memories of sneaking sugar out of a bowl, then maybe you’ll enjoy…
The world was new,
And we were poor.
The time was then,
And there was magic in a creaking, walnut door.
The summers were hotter.
The winters were colder,
And our father’s daughter
Laid her head on his all-too-willing shoulder.
Now, father and daughter were a pair…
Laughing and shaking back their hair…
Catching each ray the sun could give.
They knew all the reasons to live.
The joy we had
We knew was whole,
And happiness was
Our fingers in the sugar bowl.
© Tony Funderburk 1975
Your whimsical writer,