I wonder how
you found the pancakes that Saturday morning
that special mixture I had made for you
before I had to fly away.
Just the two of you left
sharing cream and strawberry jam and maybe
a breakfast story as the sun tapped gently against
the kitchen windows
– the one about a girl that had just learned
how to skip,
a mother searching for a cure for growing up
and a father who could taste the jam and cream
at 17,000 feet.