Gramma always had cookies in her cookie jar
No one ever ate them but me
The jar was her self-portrait
The silvery bun was it's lid
The slight clanging of it as it opened or closed
The smell of it
Even the thought of it,
filled me with joyous anticipation
of its internal goodness
When I was sad, or did a good job
When I worked hard, or was a good helper
When I was sick, or had a rough day
But particularly when I was in trouble
That is when it was most special
She would sneak me off to the kitchen
With a steady hand, like that of a surgeon
She would lift that lid slow and steady without a sound
A feat I have yet to accomplish
Then, in silent winks and sideways glances
When the coast was clear
I got to choose a decidedly undeserved treat
It was in the belly of that cookie jar
That I learned that she would always love me
No matter what

That cookie jar, abandoned and dusty upon a shelf
Recently found and cleaned
Laid in wait upon the table
It had been weeks sitting silent before my visit
I noticed it the moment Ma opened the door
Before the hugs, "hello"
We reminisced about that old empty jar
The jar that never matched her kitchen
The one that was poorly painted by hand
To her its beauty was hideous
She obviously did not know the secrets it held
Our secrets, mine and Gramma's
Happy to be rid of it,
The torch has been passed
As it takes its place of honor in the center of the counter
I notice that its yellow dress and red apron
Match my yellow walls and the red flecks in my curtains
It is at home in my kitchen
Even if my kitchen was purple
Now, its lessons of unconditional, eternal love
Are to be bestowed, unknowingly to my children
They will learn just how much a cookie can fix
And the secrets that are kept deep within
The belly of the cookie jar