A Meal with My Dead Family
33 years reflecting upon 8.
Eating popcorn above the sink. Nothing special.
Memories glide by my eyes. I’m taken.
Quiet. Pine and fresh, blueberry muffins and bacon, and
The smell of dingy old plaid curtains, beloved for what they represent.
Dappled light trickling through and outside
Jays with mohawks, chipmunks, no fences between here and the neighbors,
New stones to collect and we are going to the lake.
Buoyed and tepid, thinking of you then,
millions and million of years ago.
Reaching for a warm blueberry muffin, pealing the top off,
locking eyes around the tiny, sun filled breakfast nook in a cabin,
millions and millions of miles away,
I smile at you all, feasting on bacon and vacation,
vivid as yesterday, pungent like a nosebleed from the dry altitude,
we were happy, healthy, and whole, weren’t we?