What was on the wall that day.
The barista remembered I prefer oat milk. I almost cried into the cup.
My mom keeps my baby teeth in a small box. Whole box.
My grandmother folded my underwear when I visited. I was twelve. I was mortified. I'd kill to have her fold one more thing.
The maple on the corner turned overnight. Yesterday green, this morning fire.
First day of kindergarten. The teacher had her own little garden in the classroom. A real watering can. I held it like a holy thing.
Robins on the lawn. So many. Spring is here.
I have a brother again. After eight years of silence we are talking.
I remember the librarian at my elementary school. Her name was Mrs. Hardin. She had a bowl of mints. I read every book she said to.
My wife brought home a slice of carrot cake from a meeting because she knows. Twenty-two years of knowing.
The first June bug of summer banging on the porch light.
My friend brought me to the hospital when I couldn't see straight. She drove slow. She talked the whole way.
Tulips in the front yard. All red. Like a row of small flames.