A Memory

The air, dressed in frost tonight, sears past my face;
And I’m staring into a freezer again,
With Dad, waiting while he picks a gallon,
Hands plastered on stiff glass doors with steep black handles,
And I get so excited about the chocolate, pink,
And vanilla.

A smile insists the night toward my face
And the dim, staring stars have a new focus.
They may leech from me my memory,
I don’t mind.
Their cool kiss inspired it,
So, decidedly, the memory is ours:

My father and ice cream belong to the night
And walking—thinking—gladly I do as well,
And I can see the stars winking back.
They adore my lonely 'piphanies
Because they know I’ll remember
And allow them to remember too.