Meeting in residential care

The failing bulb

in grandma’s green hurricane lamp

stutters in the darkest corner of the basement.

We meet in secret, frequently sitting around

her mahogany and rosewood drum table.

Her fingers fumble the drawer, opening to the sepia photo of him.

She eyes him beneath the single crepuscular sun ray

piercing through the gap between the hand sewn drapes

hung above the window well.

The sunbeam stretches across the dark concrete floor.

She smiles and looks up to ask me something important,

but pauses, shuts his portrait in the drawer,

then proceeds to inquire

if I will hike to the waterfalls this afternoon.

published by Front Porch Review October 2021