Grandmother spreads an oilcloth
with lemons and leaves on it
over the picnic table out back.
We clink jelly glass to jelly glass,
our talk is watermelon pickles.
Inside, a bowl of boardwalk candies,
their centers, Jubilee kitchen wax.
The ribs of her seersucker dress
are a second hug. Toughest job of the day,
to crank open aluminum ice cube trays.
To the boy, who played across the street,
I will always see you through clothesline crisp sheets.
How would we say “call me” with just our fingers now?