What was on the wall that day.
Riding in the back of my grandparents' Buick. The bench seat was wide enough for three. I always lay across it.
My grandmother gave me her gold ring before she died. I wear it every day.
Sun on the back of my neck while I weed.
I have parents who still call to check the weather.
Bluebird in the garden. First one I've seen here.
My oldest friend and I send each other one photo a year of where we live now.
A spider built a web across my doorway overnight. I went out the back.
The crinkle a new book makes when you open it.
My grandmother's recipe for chicken and dumplings. She never wrote it down. I'm afraid of forgetting.
My grandmother taught me everything about love by loving my grandfather for sixty-eight years.
A clean shower glass.
Pulling onions from the garden. The smell of dirt on my hands.