Our small house had never
been so clean as when you
came to stay. Espresso stained
bar table gleaming, on display,
a testament to your domestic talents.
Three friends collected like flowers
every evening, bundled
around that table for supper (your word).
Hardwood swept every night,
mimosas and bacon every Sunday,
weekly trips to the farmer’s market
in Marion Square, coffee and croissants from
Wild Flour as you went to work and we
went to class. Your Lightning Bug alarm
haunts me four years removed.
Jennifer across an ocean.