A lukewarm cup of coffee
yesterday’s newspaper on the kitchen table
spread like piles of raked autumn leaves
blown over Maple Street.

Just one empty chair
faces the window over the driveway.

Nothing to remind anyone
of last night’s overcooked ribs.
nothing in the morning
like the steamed avocados,
or baked spread yams
or the screaming
the slap
the silence.

Just another Grandmother
by the sink a morning later.

Not touching a lukewarm cup of coffee.
Leaving yesterday’s newspaper,
memories of wind blown autumn leaves,
on a quiet maple street.