What was on the wall that day.
An owl outside my window at four a.m. I don't get tired of that.
Walking into the library on a hot day. The cold. The silence. The smell.
My dog's chin on my foot.
The receptionist at the cancer center remembered our anniversary year. We're still here. So is she.
My wife sings me happy birthday off-key. Same key. Every year.
The smell of laundry on the line.
A hawk took a pigeon off the railing. I won't lie. It was a marvel.
My grandparents had a small black-and-white TV in the kitchen. It only got one channel. They watched anything that was on.
My mom still calls to check the weather where I live.
The summer my brother and I read every Hardy Boys book in the library. We were in love with everything.
The summer my brother and I biked to the convenience store every afternoon for orange popsicles. We never told our mother.
I have a tomato plant on the fire escape. It has eleven flowers. I'm beside myself.