on the edge of weekend china.

lilacs remind me of my great grandmother
and the T on her backdoor -
the one we would slam
startling her as she stood at the counter
fixing pot roast for sunday dinner.
boiling potatoes
cutting carrots
watching us play out the window
as the scent of her lilac bushes wafted
weaving
mixing with the savory of the pan gravy
and the mush of the overcooked
celery -
the one thing i always placed to the side
plowing it with my fork
pushing it to the middle
swirling it through the drippings
and then landing it
on the edge
of weekend china.
there were always too many elbows
at the table
so i'd eat what i could -
chewing beneath
adult
conversation
grabbing more soda bread
to sop
the juice
leaving tracks
until i was released
from the table
and to the yard
where i could
put some lilacs
in my pockets
for
later.