Water roars
and lightning zaps
as you hold the strawberry-rhubarb pie
before it falls into your lap.
You laugh
like you did
when your first child pooped...
no diaper.
Now your smile
illumines soft wrinkles
as waterfalls run down my cheeks.
I wipe away the past
and grab a fork
as we sit
side-by-side,
consuming the sticky fragrant mess,
rubbing elbows while we wait for thunder,
giving thanks
for every morsel left.
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