What was on the wall that day.
My wife knows the order I put my groceries on the belt.
My wife and I read together at night. Different books. Same lamp.
My grandfather's car radio. Always news. Always low. I learned to fall asleep to the sound of a calm man explaining the world.
My grandmother taught me everything about love by loving my grandfather for sixty-eight years.
Frogs in the marsh. So loud. So good.
My body recovered. I didn't think it would, and it did. I am thanking it every day.
My great-aunt always wore a hat. Indoors. Outdoors. To bed once, that we saw.
My grandson called to tell me about a turtle. He's four. He wanted me to know.
Putting a record on, side A all the way through.
I'm grateful for the strangers who clapped at my graduation. I had no family there. They cheered anyway.
An owl outside my window at four a.m. I don't get tired of that.
My mother singing along to the car radio. She didn't know half the words. She faked them with conviction.