Indian Summers and Funeral Pyres

We revisited it

again and again
just to see what it would taste like.

How could we forget?

The blood from my chewed lip,

the watermelon that wasn't quite ripe,

the time you cheated on your math test
in Mrs Reynolds class

but got away with it,

and that pesto dish we cooked for your mom

the summer before she died.

        The tastes are so short lived.

The mix of saltiness, your sister's piano recital,

and the 4th of July fireworks get confused quickly

with the time we drove until the sun rose, Thanksgiving alone,

and the bay leaves I added because the chicken was boring.

We couldn't help but take another bite

wondering if it was as good as we remembered

or maybe as good as we imagined.