bee balm

at a bed and breakfast in the Catskills,lost somewhere between 1985and a lump of sorrow in the throat,there it was on the plate:little edible pink petals,next to the fresh scrambled eggs: local cluckers and garden bountyserved by a man whodrifted through timeand opened his houseto the likes of us: two idiotswho later came back withaContinue reading “Bee Balm”