Roy Orbison sings 
“Crying” on YouTube
in grainy black and white. 

Behind dark glasses, his
face remains impassive. 
“I was all right, for a while”

Press mute and he looks
so stiff. The right hand strums 
but the lips are nearly still.

Press volume, close your
eyes, and the last loon wail
falls far out on the lake.

“But I saw you last night”
Ice shards ping on stones  
in a clear mountain stream.

“I thought that I was over 
you” Glass chimes stir 
in lightly falling snow.

“I love you even more than I
did before” You will hear 
yourself repeating that for days.

“Now you’re gone and from
this moment on I’ll be crying,
crying” Your hair turns grey 
your heart stays seventeen. 

She ran our small cafeteria in the 70’s and 80’s.  
We slid our trays along steel counter tubes. I don’t 
remember if I had any Daily Special favorite.

Her hot-beef sandwich was OK, a tiny white bowl 
of pale corn on the side. Banana slices suspended 
in a wobbly green cube made for a slick salad. 
                    
However, fresh pie wedges sat right beside the 
tray stack, so we began each lunch service inhaling
cinnamon incense, hungry for Millie’s benediction.

Her crust dissolved like a sweet, sacred wafer 
transformed into soft nutmegged apple chunks,
fluffy raisin custard, or thick blueberry goo,   

and if you were in line by noon, your slice would
still be warm when Millie rang you up with that 
indulgent smile, her ice-cream scoop near at hand.