Marmalade

Orange marmalade is alright.
Not my favorite.
It was you, my father,
who loved the marmalade.
As I spread it on my toast,
I have this vision of you
before your light dimmed. 

Trim and strong,you ate heartily
never gaining weight.
Sopping up the last bit of egg
with that first piece of toast.
Eyes clear and bright
carefully applying
Marmalade to the second. 

Then you’d sit back and savor it,
gazing out the kitchen window,
thoughtfully.As I am doing now.
Eating my marmalade,
your favorite, not mine,
to remember you.

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