Barbequed Ribs

 

“Maybe one day,”

He would say, smiling

At his daughter as she asked the question

She always asked while covered

In barbeque sauce stains –

“Will you teach me how to make these, daddy?”

For they were the best ribs

Anyone had ever eaten,

And she would shove them down

Like she hadn’t eaten in days.

Every so often he would tell

Her one ingredient in his secret

Recipe – a pinch of this,

A sprinkle of that –

And she would always laugh with glee

At having another piece to the puzzle.

She grew up, and left the home,

Creating a family of her own,

And not calling as often as she should have.

The night came, and she stayed in

The hospital room, holding the hand of the man

Who had given her piggyback rides

And lessons in bike-riding,

And she leaned forward

To kiss his cheek

As his breathing grew slow.

He opened his mouth and took a deep

Breath, motioning her close.

She leaned in, and he whispered in her ear,

“The secret is a dash of thyme.”

 

Six months later, on what would have been

His seventy-seventh birthday,

She sat the plate of barbequed ribs

In front of her family

And her smallest son looked at her

With the same inquiring glance

She used to give her father,

And he said,

“Will you teach me how to make these, mommy?”

She smiled and replied,

“Maybe one day.”

Reviews

[Andromeda]

awwwwwwwwwwwwh. that's all i can say.