I will never smell lemons

without smelling the sticky summer nights

full of mosquitos and smoke from the grill,

I spent in your backyard,

that faced a sunset

as red as your ancient set of pots and pans

that were scratched and dented from years of cooking.

You wore the necklace I made for you out of cheap beads

and string, even though it was not the prettiest,

or as nice as the lady’s on your block.

They wore designer,

but you were a proud grandma.

So what changed?

Ten years later,

you’ve moved to sarasota,

finally living the dream.

Talking on the phone with your son

once every couple weeks,

but never asking if his daughter was near

to come to the phone?

I want to come visit,

but you never ask.

So now instead of living in Mount Prospect

surrounded by family in a

boring old townhouse,

and the closest body of water to you being the pond

across the street,

you’re alone in your own thoughts,

looking out on the gulf

that seems to sparkle

like the seagulls are dropping glitter from above,

on the second floor of an apartment

too big for a single 67 year old.

I suppose it’s not too bad

being far away from you though.

We still face the same sunsets,

but yours must be a more beautiful shade of red.