The summer air
Was heavy with the scent of lemonade stands
and grass clippings.
Thwerp-thwerp-thwerp went the sprinklers,
With the whirrs of bike spokes
And the wind in the poplars.
We make our way down Aberdeen,
As I wake from a dream,
In the old Ford tempo.
The dash sticky in the heat,
Old bubblegum and hard, salty French fries
Under the seat.
The window open now,
Hand out tracing the rolling hills
Going by...going by...
Like a plane.
And then we stop,
In the plaza by the water tower,
Where the bakery is.
Old man Gus mumbles something
I don't remember, and not important,
As I make my way to the window
To play sit down Pac Man.
Not looking up,
I know you went straight
For the pack of salt roasted almonds
As Gus put the rye
In the crinkly paper bag.
And now I smell the almonds
On your breath
And know it's time to go,
though never want to leave.
I wait for you, Grandma,
with all the strength of love,
To take my little hand in yours.
You do.
And we're up, and on our way
Home.
Sure.
We went home many times after,
As many as the wrinkles
On your brow.
But...
I wish I left better breadcrumbs to you Grandma,
But one never knows when leaving them.
As the day my hand left yours
was one of many
on the way
to losing
you
.
