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






no worries






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