To Gracey and Her Strawberry Jam (and the time when you were not here but you’re here now)

Every time I sit for breakfast,I open that peanut butter,Brush strawberry jam on bread’s crust,Wondering how the jam afterTwo months still half full and so red.Then see that you’re not on the chair.The manner you came down from bedYou painted your face with a sneer.I recall you spoke in humdrum,Dragged your small feet to the…