In my favorite photo, you are propped
up on pillows, swallowed by a pale
blue hoodie. Raw timber walls
of the first rustic cabin frame
a view our cove on Chase Lake. 

You hated having your picture taken,
you hated being cold, but in this frozen
minute, your eyes sparkle behind
oversized glasses, your hands hug
your first cup of coffee. 

I remember how you loved
this rustic cabin tucked under pines,
loved swimming in the lake’s spring-fed
waters. How you would sit on the screen
porch as evening light faded,

listen to the chatter of grandkids
bedded down in the loft. This slice
of sandy ground with its fifty feet
of shoreline was everything a miner’s
daughter from Scranton ever wanted.