Distinctive Memory
We had a small house for
seven of us.
We rarely had visitors
that weren’t kids.
But one Sunday, after
church,
Mom brought some friends
home for lunch.
That sent us all back to
the bedrooms to eat.
We’d come out when we
needed refills.
I went out to get another
piece of corn on the cob.
Mom handed it to me over a
lady.
A drop of butter fell in her
red hair piled high.
I grabbed the corn and
hurried out.
That’s one memory that
remains unfaded.
I wonder if she ever
noticed.
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