a place; like the edge of a pool

the walls,

wallpapered neo-antique,

and grandmother sitting at the table

cutting the ends off freshly picked

string beans.

apple pie baking, of course,

and vanilla ice cream, awaiting its fate.

small children running around

yells about flattened cakes and bitten toes

mothers

holding secret meetings,

family affairs and dead goldfish

she - the italian mother -

fed it till it burst; others wondered

if she tried the same with them.

bloated relations

readying themselves for sofas

and after dinner naps

grampas

teaching children the ways

of underhanded, gin-playing teamsters:

a spiderweb for lecturing children

on their last names

once a year, cookies and a beer,

left for a fat, older man we thought we saw

drive up one time

in a minivan

a place;

like the edge of a pool,

the office, so official,

meeting place-altar.