Then years.
Then pasta.
Then a porch.
Then a boy in rain asking a real question.
Then extra sauce that is only sauce.
End there.
The lot is dark.
The candy is gone.
The collar is his.
His to button.
His to leave dusty.
His to keep from other hands.
Kelly’s bucket is put away.
Noah’s pumpkin is gone to trash years back.
The second shelf remains.
Oregano.
Parmesan.
Red pepper.
A tub labeled Sunday.
No teacher’s fingerprints.