THE TASTE OF GOD

After weeknight Little League games,
whether we won or lost, 

whether I played or not,
my mother would take me 

to Loard's Ice Cream parlor.
I would always order the same thing: 

Cherry Vanilla on a sugar cone.

Grief has me wanting 

that concentrated goodness again
that my mother made possible 

in the one simple scoop,
in the sweet juice and rind 

of the half-frozen cherries.
God was in that ice cream.