when she referred to this color as old-lady-blue
summer in your house the morning light poured in spilling on the chenille like warm milk dishes clattering in the kitchen as you made breakfast
I think about those days of barefeet, scraped knees, sunburns, mosquito bites and garden dirt…
she strained to hold on to the good parts when the not-so-good parts were hard to shake off
there were those hot sticky nights picnics by flashlight on the dewey grass waiting for the fireworks we chased fireflies
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