Years ago, I used to see her always:
Cook things at her house.
Help her fold her laundry.
Once we made sweet bread —
Zucchini or banana,
I don’t remember. It hardly matters now.
When we pulled it from the oven
And sliced it hot and crumbling,
She spread the slices with butter.
It’s never quite
Tasted just right without the butter
Since.
Did I get to share some of that sweet bread?
Did I get to share some of that sweet bread?