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Butter Yellow

Butter yellow. Like the squares my mother forks into  for pie crusts.  or what my dad softens  to house the garlic and parsley during Friday night family dinners for warmed bread. Yellow,  Like the color of my  Grandmother’s tulip  that grew in the bed  that spring day  when I decided to leave.   “It is ok,” She was saying. The tulips had been gone for years and so had she, for that matter but one day she came in yellow to say it would be okay. And it was Indeed it was.

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