What was on the wall that day.
My grandmother taught me to make her bread today. The kitchen smelled like every Sunday of my childhood.
Spring break, 1993. A motel pool. My brother and I underwater making faces. We came up laughing every time.
The way starlings sound in a parking lot. Whole conversation I can't follow.
Hummingbird at the feeder. Then a second.
My wife held the dog when we had to put her down. She held me afterwards.
My partner remembers what foods make me sick. Years of remembering.
Grateful for the priest who said you don't have to come back. I went back anyway. But it was good to know.
Our family piano. Out of tune. I learned Heart and Soul at six. My grandmother played gospel at ninety.
The cashier at the gas station noticed my hands were cold and told me there was hot coffee free for drivers tonight.
A man at the gas station paid for the rest of my tank when my card declined.
The cat slow-blinking at me from across the room.
The first fire of the season.