A concoction of love

My aunt
in her red chicken apron and saltpepper hair, she
hums and sashayes through her huge kitchen, 
baking up a storm.
"Retirement, baby!", 
she tells me as
she waltzes with a pan of cinnamon buns.

My aunt with her
room full of craft supplies, she
glues feathers and plastic gems for hours, 
her glasses perched on the tip of her nose.
"Retirement, baby!", 
she smiles when paint
smudges in a yellow streak on her cheek.

My aunt and her bad hip, she
taught me what happens when
you shake up her bottle of diet coke, 
unscrew the cap
and
point it at your unsuspecting uncle. 
"Retirement, baby!", 
she can hardly get the words out
as she bends in half
and laughs and laughs.

My aunt, and her camera always at the ready, she
snaps photo after photo.
Of birds and buildings and skies and smiles and me and siblings and
love. 
So much love.
She positions me on the steps covered in flowers, 
looks at me and smiles.
"Say "retirement!", baby!"
Click.

My aunt and her niece, we
are sitting together on her extremely large porch
sipping lemonade stirred up from a frozen 
cardboard tube, 
watching the purple lightning in the yellow air
as thunder rolls around us.
The rain almost touches us
but not quite.
"Retirement, baby!", 
she whoops as the wind climbs through her hair.

My aunt and her stories, she
and her beauty and all her love.
My aunt and her life full of 
sugar and flour, 
sunburst yellow paint and pink glitter, 
memories and sky
and motorcycle trips to faraway places.
My aunt and her smile
that feels so warm
and her infectious crackling laugh.
My aunt and her voice
always forever in my head
saying with such joy
that it's like fireworks
"Retirement, baby!".
My aunt and her giant house, 
smelling of coffee and sweet and brightness, 
reminding me 
that if I'm ever in need
I can call her home
mine.