the sun splashing all around
Waiting out in the backyard
I notice the grass is cut short and neat,
and the wasp nests
that once hung like proud stalactites
from beneath the gutters
had been knocked down and smashed
into unregal piles of pulpy cardboard,
and he’d built a pretty wooden fence around
a tree. There, listening to familiar neighborhood
sounds of children and vehicles, and slamming
screen doors, I thought of when I
was a child cutting grass
in my grandfather’s backyard,
then resting on his stoop sucking
on the ice cubes left in the cold wet
lemonade glass, sniffing the air
as the smells of my grandmother’s sizzling cooking
inside drifted outside to mingle
with the fresh tangy warmth of grass clippings,
the sun splashing all around.