Blueberry scones with vanilla frosting
melt in our mouths, crumbs everywhere.
I'll pay, Nana says, knowing how special
this tradition is to my brother and me.
The three of us walk through Hewlett,
pausing periodically to pocket pennies
pedestrians are too rushed to reclaim
after they drop them.
Her apartment is littered with photos
spanning over ninety-three years
and antiquated records we dance to
like Singing in the Rain.
We snuggle together on a crimson couch
that's the same color as the lipstick imprint
she plants on my cheek when she kisses me goodnight.
As the golden sky fades to indigo, I drift asleep
tranquilly dreaming of the memories we'll create
in these days "these years" to come
because although our lives aren't eternal,
I know our love is.
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