My mother, the cat and I
decided to sit outside to eat
our dessert. We don’t sit there
as often as one might think.
The deck is stained
the color of our cat’s eyes.
He is always right there, gazing
through the rail – cranky, a barn cat
unable to kill, called to sit, to wonder.
The crickets scream in unison
as my mother’s silver spoon cradles
a slice of peach. She held the bite high.
My father
ate peaches and vanilla ice cream
every single night in summertime.
That is when I knew what it meant
to live forever.
I never met my mother’s father,
but the way her eyes softened,
the way I melted too – I knew
he was a good man,
so we celebrated.
