Butter Pecan

Ice Cream made memories of my childhood

grow as people do and perspective would

in times I displayed rare maturity –

this current silence being one of them.

How this frozen milk and its simplicity,

pecans, brown butter; I taste each of them

with inner shavings of vanilla bean,

holds this catch of nostalgia in cuisine.

My grandfather smiles across the table

in dreams I remember him this cheerful;

not at the bottom of the stairs broken,

my mother, his daughter, hand on his head

or slipped in the shower bare and soaking

then fluid in his lungs resigned to bed.

I do not remember him as wanting.

Life is hard enough recalling suff’ring.

He smiles across the table eyes on me;

Mona Lisa’s secret grin with teeth.

I did not understand, I was that young

when taste and memory collide on tongues

old men recollect youthful memories

and catalysts of happiness, ice creams,

both of simple pleasures and remembrance

creates this connection out of silence.

And so that secret grin I take with me

and smile to myself on simple things.

While I enjoy his favorite ice cream

I too enjoy the memory it brings.

Since he passed, I have no new memories,

but here a boy dreams – grandfatherly things.