Meanwhile, we are seeding flowerbeds back to back in the windowbox. In the ranch Mother’s paming in a red sweater, figure eights crocheted on its front, cheese and mayonnaise sandwiches for lunch. It’s October. Grandfather turned ninety one three days before today on the twenty seventh of September. After he puffed the candles, he asked what the date was. “It’s your birthday” I told him. They will bloom until Thanksgiving always on a Thursday yellow pansies dark middles outside second-floor glass I am standing in front of the mirror in my underwear, holding the skin on my chest on top of my heart. He tells me I’ve lost weight. He is smiling from the other side of the duvet cover. It’s hot still. It’s oven and Mother’s in a manic to unbox our winter clothes. I am crème. Have lost my freckled spots, just a thigh bruise dark from seeding backwards on the sills.