Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

What Remains

I am sitting in the small yellow room
looking out the window.
The broken fence leans against the good one.
The brick outdoor fireplace,
built eighty years ago
sits stoically in the ground.
I imagine all of the steaks and ribs
and chickens that have been cooked on it over the years.
It holds stories,
of backyard parties,
wakes,
Fourth of July’s,
affairs,
divorces,
and births.
I imagine the backyard full of black men and women
dressed in their Sunday best,
laughing and playing the blues.
White dresses blowing in the breeze,
Easter hats of pink and blue,
the squirrels darting about eating leftover
crumbs of corncakes and sweet potato pie.
I see an old man sitting on the back porch
playing his harmonica,
drinking Wild Turkey,
yellowed eyes and fingernails,
knowing what he has built
will remain
even after he is gone.