What was on the wall that day.
My friend texts me good morning every day. I never have to wonder if she's mad.
My father taught me to drive in an empty church parking lot on Sunday afternoons. We never told my mother how fast we went.
My dog finding her ball.
Salamander under a stone. Bright orange. The kids gasped.
Slipping into bed in clean sheets.
A teenager gave up his seat for my mother. He insisted.
Stars over a corn field with no city around.
Lightning bugs along the creek tonight.
Yelping in delight at finding the missing earring.
I have a bed. With sheets. In a quiet room. Some nights I lie awake just appreciating it.
My grandfather sang in the shower in Polish. I didn't understand a word. I sang along anyway.
My grandfather's car radio. Always news. Always low. I learned to fall asleep to the sound of a calm man explaining the world.