Donuts
I remember you called me at eight in the morning,
on a Saturday, with a sleepy, quiet voice,
begging me to come over and help you clean your house.
Your dad had demanded to have it in "Ship Shape",
because your family was coming from Wisconsin for the holidays.
I come by your house in ten minutes, crossing the alley into your yard,
almost slipping on the frozen ice and feeling my hands freeze against your brick colored fence.
Tiger welcomes me with a lick on my hand and a jump on my lap.
Entering your house, the scent of Pine Sole dodged through my nostrils, bringing tears to my eyes.
I hear you hiding away pots and pans in the basement kitchen.
Stepping down the stairs I get the towel to dry the
freshly washed knives and forks and warm rounded plates.
Mopping the floor , rinsing dirty rags, and wiping counters was what we did together.
we always made games of everything we used, like dancing with the brooms and rolling across
the floor with your high bouncy chairs.
Playing tag and talking about how it would be in high school next year
being the cool kids on the block.
Once the morning of hard labor was over we hiked upstairs to your living room
and slouched on your couches, feeling the pain in our arms from all the
motherly jobs we tackled.
You come back from the kitchen with my cleaning payment:
A box, with green dots and red letters
filled with white powdered donuts and two tall glasses of milk.
Basia, thanks for the donuts and your white powdered sugar friendship.
This is a gift from me,
showing my custard admiration for you.
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