A sixpack of Sparklers
on the Texas kitchen table.
Been there since year's end.
The sight of them snug in rectangular cardboard
And wrapped tight in plastic
Forces up memories of blackberry pie 4th of July
Days in Bristol. I think of the happy blue-eyed smiling face
That marked my mornings at home and set my dinner out each night.
Then I text a message to my Mother:
Was that you who wrote that story
Or Dad impersonating you writing a story
Or you impersonating Dad impersonating you writing a story.
She doesn’t respond.
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