What was on the wall that day.
My dad and I have a code word for I love you. We use it in front of his friends.
A cup of cocoa in mittened hands.
A monarch landed on my hand at the bus stop and stayed there a full minute.
My laundry, clean, folded, put away.
My partner asks me how I'm sleeping. Every time. He listens.
My niece sends me drawings of our family. She always draws our dog wearing a hat.
The boy who walked me home in seventh grade. He didn't say much. He carried my books. I think about him kindly.
My husband holds my hand at funerals.
My partner remembers what foods make me sick. Years of remembering.
I have a tomato plant on the fire escape. It has eleven flowers. I'm beside myself.
My partner held my mother's hand at the end. He did not let go.
My husband and I have danced the same first-dance song at every wedding we've been to. We can't help it.