On a white lace tablecloth that covered a long wooden table
was a ceramic tray piled high with pink Bay shrimp,
fresh parsley, Boston lettuce, slices of yellow lemon.
As if transported from the formal dining room
of the New Hampshire house where Dorothy grew up,
avocado halves stuffed with crab --
each garnished with parsley, paprika, and fresh ground black pepper;
each on a separate white plate --
were arrayed on the table.
I remembered the way winter sun was filtered through heavy curtains
in that house,
the individual salads artfully arranged on delicate white china,
a mahogany table,
gold-framed portraits of family members.
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