by Lydia Suarez

Sundays we drive along the Hudson,
leaving city smells of coffee and laundromats
to follow chipmunks
who crisscross segments
in open fields
and stroll the perimeter of a lake where
paddle boats cloaked in tarps
collect orphan leaves.
We sip hot chocolate from cardboard cups
with donut hole handles
and return in a pale winter sun
wondering where summer has gone.
At a cafeteria we stop
to eat Cuban sandwiches
cut like isosceles triangles
at a counter where
I spin oblivious,
and my father
how fertile youth
bears barren age.

Lydia’s poems and stories have appeared in journals including Quality Fiction , Prism Review and Six Sentences. Recently, a collection of stories was chosen as a finalist in the Grace Notes Competition and a novel was selected as a semifinalist for the Elixir Press Fiction Award.