Summers at grandma's used to be fun,
Before we realized our grandparents would eventually die
and transcend to planes invisible to our eyes.
And we would sneak into the house, soggy bathing suits and all
Dripping pools on the floor while we snuck slices of American cheese from
the fridge, and butter crackers.
And, in fear, thrill, and delight, we would wolf down our sacred snacks
In the dim kitchen light, before Mama could see or grandma would
get home from work,
And dart, crashing into the swimming pool and enduring stomach-aches to keep
Our secret delight silent.
The delights I endure now are different. More painful, even.
The shrieks of laughter when you would lick my face. The moans when
we slept together and enjoyed those more-adult sorts of pleasures.
Your fingers, when they gracefully plucked a tune from the banjo,
and the notes stabbed me in the heart, and I soared with love and joy and love--
A thrill--like those simple times, sneaking snacks at grandma's from the kitchen
on summer days, when we were swimmin'.