Her idea of a good time was us
alone in a small room with a desk
and a common book of prayer.
Her idea of a good breakfast
was oatmeal and sliced peaches,
a sprinkle of sesame seeds.
Mornings were spent in silence
reading, writing in her diary
on the progress of her soul.
lunch was nuts, a sliver of cheese,
a raspberry or two for a treat —
if I behaved myself, she laughed.
To grow new eyes was her life path;
her window view was a parking garage
a gas station, a used car lot.
Once when she thought she saw it anew,
she pulled up her dress and sat on my lap
and I saw that view afresh too.
©James L. Ralston