Poetry: 13 by Jen Rouse

13

They let me pour the molten
marshmallows from the pan
and tease me about my trust
issues. Because they can’t decide
on s’mores dip or fruity pebble
treats, we say, yes! to everything.
It’s face masks and California
for college. The Beatles and Beach
Boys and ABBA flood the kitchen, as
my daughter and her best friend
silly dance around the island.
And I remember when I could
carry each of them in my arms
like tiny loaves of screaming
bread. Their laughter lights all
the empty places, my roaring sun
dogs of ice and fire.      and who
needs tea or a bath or           please,
sweet ones, never leave.