Poppyseed

It tastes like summer morning

When summer meant something

And the nine to five was just

A faint and distant dream.

The bird outside the kitchen window,

Red as your dishes and decor,

Flits about the birdbath

And flies off just as quickly,

Like the stories that you tell us

Of memories long gone,

Like the passing days of summer,

Like this moment at your table

And each memory made since.

Was that the last summer

We spent so many days with you?

I can’t seem to remember,

But I know that as years went by

The giant muffins left your counter,

The birds flew south for winter,

And soon you followed them.

And that’s how the story ends –

I never saw you again.

The years took away my youth

And then they took you, too.

Like a scarlet bird in summer,

You’re just a fleeting memory

That only visits on rare mornings

When I bite into a muffin

That tastes like nostalgia –

Is that why they’re more bitter

Than I ever realized then,

Or did I only like poppyseed

Because of you?