Spirit Gifts

Meema came to me in meditation,
               Wrinkled, smiling face—the one
               Before the stroke, her invitation
                              To pack her things—pure glee, palm
Down, reaching to me, bestowing
               Unripe mayapple from her wheelchair,
                              Whispering, here you go.
I took it, frozen cherry knuckles
               Like lightly oiled oyster pearls
               Bowling over my skin,
                              And stuffed it in my pocket,
                                             A keepsake for contemplation
To lodge this visitation in memory.
               I didn’t know until the woods
                              What hung beneath umbrellaed leaves,
Or that it tasted like pink Starburst
               When ripe, a treat for box turtles
               Who disperse seeds like inspired
                            Wildlife, how she would give me
                                             A couple of fives for my report card,
Or wisdom over Diet Pepsi
               After mowing her lawn.
                              Her house clean linen and leather purse,
Aromas as apparitions, balled-up tissues
               Saturated in Estee Lauder,
               I feel her grandmother massage,
                              As I tell her I want to walk the length of the U.S.,
(But don’t tell my mom),
               And she describes the night her father
  Woke her up when pizza first came to town.

Bryce Johle is from Williamsport, PA and earned his B.A. in Professional Writing from Kutztown University. His stories and poems have appeared in The Writing Disorder, Shoofly Literary Magazine, Essence Art and Literary Magazine, draft Literary Magazine, platform Zine, and Nebo: A Literary Journal. He lives in Pittsburgh, PA with his wife and stepdaughter.