She left me her ruby-red tulips

and her freshly mulched garden

with its ripe tomatoes and basil.

But she forgot to leave our evenings

together in the kitchen,

eating overcooked macaroni on plastic plates,

complaining about those Republicans.

She left me her favorite crystal dishes,

the ones she insisted be limited

for special occasions only,

and a brand-new bottle of Dawn dish detergent.

But she forgot to leave

her glass of white Zinfandel

she enjoyed while watching “Seinfeld”

in my father’s La-Z-Boy

while I sat beside her feet

sipping on a Yoo-Hoo.

She left me her wooden white music box,

a pair of diamond earrings

that were too flashy for her taste,

and a silver tennis bracelet

my father bought her for their 25th anniversary.

But she forgot to take her navy Nike running shoes

that she laced up every Saturday morning

for our jog to the Starbucks

on the corner of 5th and 27th.

She left her sapphire cotton robe

hanging on the hook in the bathroom,

her cinnamon-scented body lotion by the bed,

and her Holiday Inn notepad

sitting blankly on her nightstand.

But she forgot to leave

our car rides to the city

when we would fight over the radio station

always compromising on the oldies channel,

rolling the windows down

and belting out Beatles songs

as the wind tussled our charcoal curly hair.

She left her cockeyed reading glasses from Walgreens

resting upon the latest

Janet Evanovich novel,

and her collection of menorahs

in a blue Tupperware box

next to the dining room table.

But she forgot to leave

our lazy Sunday mornings

spent tangled up in our down comforters ’til 11,

then straight to the kitchen,

still in our fluffy pink slippers,

awaiting the sight of a fresh batch of

the world’s greatest chocolate-chip pancakes

and a Bugs Bunny mug full of milk.

She left her gravestone in the ground,

her Star of David on her dresser,

and a bag of her favorite

fun-sized Snickers unopened.

She forgot to leave

Her soothing songs

that scared away the monsters,

her warm embrace

that shielded me from the bullies,

and her tender touch

that once would have dried

these tears falling against

my pale cheeks.

by Rachel Maimon, Buffalo Grove, IL