No picture today?
Aunt Bee says.
I shake my head.
Can’t think of anything, I say.
Except black-and-white curls
and brown eyes and a mouth
that smiles much more
than it used to.
She’s quiet for a few minutes,
and the wind shakes the tree
above us so a dried-out leaf falls
on the table. She stares at it.
Nothing has to change, she says,
like she knows what might be
keeping me from drawing.
I can still be your aunt Bee.
She looks at me. I don’t mind.
If you don’t.
Next thing I know, I’m nodding,
saying, Okay, I’ll still call you Aunt Bee,
and it feels right. Good. Special, even.
She smiles at me, and I can feel it
and my feet.
There are still so many questions
I’d like to ask and so many stories
I’d like to hear, but I’ll save them
for another day.
Today, I will just sit
on the back porch
with my aunt Bee.