Red
By: Bella Ronzio
I will never smell lemons
without smelling the sticky summer nights--
full of mosquitos and smoke from the grill--
I spent in your backyard,
that faced a sunset
as red as your ancient set of pots and pans
that were scratched and dented from years of cooking.
You wore the necklace I made for you out of cheap beads
and string, even though it was not the prettiest,
or as nice as the lady’s on your block.
They wore designer,
but you were a proud grandma.
So what changed?
Ten years later,
you’ve moved to Sarasota,
finally living the dream.
Talking on the phone with your son
once every couple weeks,
but never asking if his daughter was near
to come to the phone?
I want to come visit,
but you never ask.
So now instead of living in Mount Prospect
surrounded by family in a
boring old townhouse,
and the closest body of water to you being the pond
across the street,
you’re alone in your own thoughts,
looking out on the gulf
that seems to sparkle
like the seagulls are dropping glitter from above,
on the second floor of an apartment
too big for a single 67-year-old.
I suppose it’s not too bad
being far away from you though.
We still face the same sunsets,
but yours must be a more beautiful shade of red.
without smelling the sticky summer nights--
full of mosquitos and smoke from the grill--
I spent in your backyard,
that faced a sunset
as red as your ancient set of pots and pans
that were scratched and dented from years of cooking.
You wore the necklace I made for you out of cheap beads
and string, even though it was not the prettiest,
or as nice as the lady’s on your block.
They wore designer,
but you were a proud grandma.
So what changed?
Ten years later,
you’ve moved to Sarasota,
finally living the dream.
Talking on the phone with your son
once every couple weeks,
but never asking if his daughter was near
to come to the phone?
I want to come visit,
but you never ask.
So now instead of living in Mount Prospect
surrounded by family in a
boring old townhouse,
and the closest body of water to you being the pond
across the street,
you’re alone in your own thoughts,
looking out on the gulf
that seems to sparkle
like the seagulls are dropping glitter from above,
on the second floor of an apartment
too big for a single 67-year-old.
I suppose it’s not too bad
being far away from you though.
We still face the same sunsets,
but yours must be a more beautiful shade of red.
Writer's Statement: I wrote this after my Grandma called me after multiple months of not talking to her. I wanted to write something that would describe what I wish I could say to her, but probably never will.