Sweet Tea

She never gave up that recipe, the boys' favorite iced tea, made smooth and sweet. Women sit in the kitchen going over coupons and recipes, regurgitating the latest gossip heard in the pew behind at this morning's service. men sit on the porch tucking chaw in their lip pocket, spitting in a bucket on the railing. Waiting for the race to start, supper to be served, the clouds to pass so lawn can be mowed. Another Sunday without Mama. The iced tea is off, just enough for the boys to notice, the women to know they missed again. If only she'd learned to write, we'd have the recipe.