for L. & K. & S.
Vermont and the smell of rain on those back roads. The beard
on the man in the coffee shop. The neighbors' daughter, petulant until
she dizzied herself on the front lawn. The price of organic blueberries.
A secret Tuesday in June. The way the faucet won't tighten. Fresh paint
on an old door. Phone calls to Illinois and California and your father. Another run
to Home Depot. Tears when you least expect them. Tears when you do. The beach
and its crashing symphony of children. The book you are, unknowingly, writing.
Maps from the places you've traveled. The startle of grey in your hair.
A photograph from high school, that regrettable dress.
An avocado, underripe, you open nevertheless.