after her mastectomy, my grandmother let me sleep on her breast inserts– they smelled like silicone and cookies– love’s complicated
terrowfully*–imagining your injury–repeating no no no this was her way this is not the only way to love *(terror + sorrow+fully)
turning off lights leaving my shoes by the door eating what I take and brushing my crumbs into the sink
Remembering Jean no-bake cookies cooling in the kitchen an accordion in the garage fireflies and a strawberry patch between
Have you ever noticed how signs point out the obvious? “Lane ends.” Yet no one says to them, “Yeah. Duh.”
Nailed the Mom Olympics when I dug a splinter from my daughter’s finger with the post of my silver earring.
Did I tell you I brought the wrong cat home from the vet? Second-guessed myself until they called me back.
The sun falls down touching this tree that tree but not that tree playing favorites in a lullaby of light
The happy red tram climbed a blue sky and a green mountain where the children fed chipmunks peanuts by hand.
This is how they wrote, Eudora, Flannery, Tillie, Tracy– that’s right. I used their first names– from their front porches.