24 April 2018
small things i want to remember.
eyes exchanged with fellow mothers on sidewalks, in coffeeshops, on trains to say: you're doing beautifully. the warmth of a really good latte. the sighting of a vespa. christopher's grin on facetime while he is away. joy in books i haven't yet read. when the apartment falls dark on a stormy spring morn. watching old episodes of grey's anatomy from a tub soak. closing my eyes and traveling: to a rainy drive in the pacific northwest, to charleston's salty breeze, back to january and the first glittering morning with francis in my arms. a bowlful of strawberries, brightest red and sweet, eaten in the bath. cool air that the threat of rain ushers in. the dream of lace curtains, someday. a wiped-down kitchen counter. hyacinths scattered about rooms in milk bottles made of glass. the first day it is warm enough to wear huaraches. how my baby boy's dewy puffs of breath on my neck stir memory of cherry blossoms.