July 13, 2012

Some Months Later


For months they lingered on the vine, growing green and heavy.

Gran, how do you feel today?
Anxious. She said.
Good anxious or bad anxious?
Good anxious. She said.
The room felt humid. The bathroom smelled of a mildewed mop. No wall clock. No chairs. No television. No matter.

I combed my fingers through her hair, breaking the curls that had been set days before. She closed her eyes.
That feels good. She said. 

The tomato felt warm in my palm.

Summer would begin its slow escape with the first slice.


  1. Combing fingers through a loved one's hair is such a beautiful gesture.

  2. the first slice of a homegrown tomato is the best herald of summer, and yes, thus begins its slow escape. the last two weeks, ours began (at last!) ripening, and we've been greedily eating sweet tomato sandwiches.

    best to you, Roberto, and your Gran.

  3. Beautiful, Tracy. I'll think of you as I slice my own (much smaller!) tomatoes at lunch.


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