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.
