Hot Pocket Reflections, Version 2

What do Hot Pockets make you think of?

Permit me, for a moment, a dip into my own Hot Pocket reflections:

When I think of Hot Pockets,

I think of…

*

Piano lessons every single weekend, for eight of my growing-up years

The smell of my Mum-Mum’s car, as she ferried my older brother and I

To her little condo home, for lunch and practice with her two grand-dears!

Yes, when I think of Hot Pockets, I think of a bright, clear Saturday sky…

*

Sunlight gilding the light pine table, and casting funky shadows

from my Mum-Mum's meticulously arranged, flowery centerpieces;

Her gentle veined hands, whose trained fingers knew the ebbs and flows

of countless nocturnes, hymns, and other classical masterpieces -

*

Those wonderful weathered hands, able to draw from ivory, hammers, and strings,

in equal measure the most roaring of anthems and the sweetest of lullabies-

I think of those hands condescending to prepare one of my favorite things:

A lunch of Hot Pockets for three, for which she'd often apologize.

*

I never knew why; it seemed a grand, delicious meal to my young brain!

Unaware that frozen, microwaveable food was thought lesser, by some,

I'd joyfully dig in, the meal preluding our jaunt to the old keys, to train;

Ever grateful, now more than ever- for your weekly show of love, my dear Mum-Mum.

*

*

*

Author's Note:

Thank you so much for reading! As the title suggests, this is a revised version of a poem I wrote about a month ago. In exploring it this time, I focused less on my bitterness about how the world looks down on this beloved snack of mine, and far more on the much more worthwhile subject of my dear Mum-Mum's wonderfulness and love. Here's the first version if you're interested! Cheers, all :)