virginialewis23
My Dear Petra,
Determined Neighbor of the Smile,
Hands in the dirt, face flushed with red splotches
oh how you would turn red!
As you handled the flowers, the seedlings, the seeds... with a caring undiluted by nostalgia, that sappy emotion you would attribute to me.
Your caring was that of a scientist whose appreciation of precision
Was without borders
As anyone who had eaten your exquisitely prepared dishes
Knows
And remembers.
You admired the writing of Chrysta Wolfe. I too.
You in German, I in English translations.
“Flawed as her Germany and as wise...” we would nod, sip wine, and nod.
How would Chrysta chronicle your renaissance mind?
My question returns to me through the amber gaze of nostalgia... for which you always forgave me, with a sigh as for the afflicted.
You read volumes of Civil War history, organized neighborhood Halloween block parties, baked holiday cookies that I would call sentimental in their delicate abundance
(You would not.)
You nurtured a young girl in our neighborhood who wanted to learn to plant flowers... she would follow you from mission to mission.
I don’t know where she is now.
I know that you are gone.
My dear Determined Neighbor of the Determined Smile ,
Enamored with life, as a besotted enthusiast,
I have inherited your teas, which you prepared precisely for me those years when you were two doors down. I shall indulge myself of nostalgic sentimentality with every cup, without you here to notice and roll your eyes.
I shall
Miss you.