By creative thinking, to make a soul smile,
impoverished, eating (homecooked) sliders. The good die young; a most credulous
soul, swooshed into sainthood. Bags of potatoes, French fries, chips, and often
baked. Bacon most mornings, hashbrowns with onions. I was surprised we didn’t
gain weight, at least, for a considerable measure of time. Weight becomes a
pressure point. Most wrestle with that; surprised to feel changed by that; many
more years to sense a dear human. Many nights aside a good feeling, a decent
feeling, draped in innocence; scents wafting, ice clattering, association made
meaningful. His mother was angelic, incandescent, a jewel in God’s necklace.
Bewildering us, with deep pride, most were devastated by surroundings—most gentle
souls. We mourned their passing. A mother with grandchildren. A soul born to
become incredible.
