193. AFTERNOON SHADOWS

193.

AFTERNOON SHADOWS

My dad came by today.

He found me in the backyard 

digging dandelions.

I hate the hot sun

but Dad loved it and

that's where we ended up.

I shifted my chair until 

I found a corner of late shade.

Then we listened to old show tunes,

something from South Pacific,

on his ancient pocket transistor radio,

the air heavy with the rich smell

of freshly mowed grass and wayward lavender.

A plane soared high above,

tiny glittering silver blip.

The far-off motor buzzed faintly,

a fat robotic summer bee.

I offered a glass of iced tea

with translucent slices 

of glossy yellow lemons

but he shook his head no.

Memories joined us 

as we sat side by side,

holding hands,

easy and peaceful 

like I'd always hoped we'd be.

I dozed in the heat and 

when I woke up he was gone.

It was sweet and sad

and I didn't want to let go.

*comments welcome