What was on the wall that day.
My mother's voice when she called me by my full name. Three names. I knew exactly what came next.
My oldest friend and I send each other one photo a year of where we live now.
When I was nine my teacher told me I had something to say. I have been saying things ever since.
My wife knows the difference between my sigh of contentment and my sigh of dread.
Someone left flowers on the dashboard of my car. I never figured out who.
My mother taught me to make her bread. I am making it now. The kitchen smells like her.
The afternoon my mother taught me to drive standard. Down a dirt road. Stalls. Laughter. Coffee in a paper cup.
My dad calls me on Sundays. Just to say hi. He always says hi twice.
A clean swimming pool in the morning.
The way the river smells in the heat.
A package on the porch I forgot I ordered.
My grandmother said you eat what you can and you save what you can. I do both.