The confitures

The coconut candies

Family recipes

A history lost

I rarely speak her name now

Though her name is one of my own

And I never thought to ask any of it

But what did I know of mortality at a safe and happy eleven?

I wish I had

Now, of course.

Now that it's useless and impossible to ask

Now that my eyes are clear and my heart open

But the memories

The sound of her voice

The flow of her nightgowns

The scent of the confitures

The gritty, too sweet, to perfect texture of the coconut candies

Those are mine forever