In Memoriam

When I was young, 

the sunrises I loved best 

were the ones painted 

behind your trees. 

I would wake, 

already energized, 

hoping to beat the sun 

out of bed. 

Your dogs would follow, 

sometimes as many as four, 

furry guards and 

confidantes. 

When we returned, 

breathless from racing 

the birds, 

you would fry pancakes 

and flip eggs, 

pour grape juice 

from the fruit 

of your vines, 

insist that I eat more, 

just a little more, 

as your cats 

anointed my ankles 

with silky fur 

and silent prayers. 

We would lie in your bed, 

watching Shirley Temple 

or old Dick Van Dyke episodes, 

or reading the books 

that would become 

my dearest escapes. 

You would give me gifts- 

a butterfly brooch 

with zirconia wings, 

a book, 

a calendar, 

some mittens, 

a knife. 

But they were never 

as beautiful 

as your hills, 

bathed in sunlight, 

as your sky, 

clear 

and blue 

as your love.