What was on the wall that day.
My niece running to meet me at the door.
Grateful for the dentist who told me my mother brushed my teeth for me when I was little. He could tell. The enamel.
My great-aunt is ninety-four and still asks me what I'm reading. I bring her my answers.
The song on the radio was exactly the one I needed. I sat in the parking lot until it ended.
Sound of leaves in October. Whole street talking.
My father taught me to skip a stone in the creek behind his work. Five skips. He let me throw last.
My dentist's office sent flowers to my mom's funeral.
Cracking the door open and hearing rain.
My friend brings me figs from her tree every summer.
Grateful I can hold a pen. Some days I forget how lucky that is.
Standing in the kitchen, alone, listening to one good song through.
I have a bed. With sheets. In a quiet room. Some nights I lie awake just appreciating it.