What was on the wall that day.
The brown couch in my grandparents' den. Plastic over it. Crinkle every time anyone sat down. We sat down anyway.
My husband walks the dog at four a.m. so I can sleep.
Our family piano. Out of tune. I learned Heart and Soul at six. My grandmother played gospel at ninety.
My wife knows when I need to be alone before I do.
I have a kitchen that gets sun in the afternoon. I drink my tea there.
My son hugged me in front of his friends today. He's fourteen.
A stranger held an umbrella over me while I tied my shoe in the rain.
The boy who walked me home in seventh grade. He didn't say much. He carried my books. I think about him kindly.
Grateful that the trees on my block were planted by people who never met me.
My friend brought soup when I was sick. She knew exactly how I take it.
The lilacs by the back door are blooming. Whole yard smells like my grandmother.
I have a partner who lets me read in bed with the light on.