I can see the powder-blue floral country kitchen curtains
framing purple peek-a-boo skies through magnolia leaves.
I can feel the immediate turn of weather
As the crack of a radio forecasts these spring uncertainties.
I can hear the cyclical squeak of her faux-leather swivel chair
As I await a serving up of childhood pleasantries –
That bowl of plain vanilla ice cream I spun up with a cold spoon
once dressed with Hershey’s.
Jason Z Guest