Articles/Essays – Volume 46, No. 1
Offerings
The way he leaves a banana-mayo sandwich
on the counter. His special blend
of applesauce with too much cinnamon
brims over a white glass bowl.
The scratchy blue-and-green-car sheets
left folded on the hide-a-bed.
During your visit,
he’ll take you to the buffet,
but only between two and four.
He’ll stand in line
for a cup of water,
but only if it’s free.
He won’t ride the glass-bottom boat,
but he’ll lead you to the spring,
make odd remarks
while you gawk at alligators,
scan seaweed for manatees.
There will be no hugs, no
I love you’s when you leave.
You’ll have to scavenge for clues:
The way he rises early to make you
tofu waffles.
The way he hoses pollen from your car
before your 12-hour trip.
The way he proffers a firm handshake,
a packet of sandwiches,
a sack of bruised Red Delicious.