You told me once

that your momma had a dream

of her daddy eating

berries

in childish abandon

after the cancer had

taken him home.

We were laughing

the other night, after

our boy had gone

to bed – about how

he stuffs the blueberries

into his mouth

by the twos and threes.

“Reminds me of

mom’s dream,

and makes me smile”

you said.

Sweet

how dreams

can drift

into memories,

the stain of eaten

fruit, on the chin of

a baby,

a remnant

of something else.


I wish I could go

back

to every

conversation

where I felt the need to

contrive an answer

I didn't have,

and just say -

I don't know -

instead.

Over a little while, I’ve written a small collection of love notes. Romance is beautiful in her everyday skin, and I want to honor that.

Modern Love Notes

He sends me links to videos on Reddit - modern love notes minus the words. They read: I laughed at this and I want my Love’s rejoining joy. Or I learned something here - wonder with me.




When We Talk About Home

Home is sometimes the study we share as a bedroom in my parent’s house; it is sometimes the crow’s caw, which hearkens me back to the small plot of South Carolina Forest, where my grandparents lived; the other night, as we scrolled through Zillow and texted our favorites to each other like Valentine’s, it was your heart - which is more of a home than a house will ever be.




Things I Missed While Skimming (pt. 1)

You missed your alarm again, and I was annoyed. You said you had turned down the volume so that I would not hear you texting at night “You do that? You never told me.” And now I’m reading a chapter I skipped in my favorite series of books.




All Our Laughs Are Worth It

Every night for half a year we’d slip downstairs with the baby monitor and the 8pm meal and watch our favorite show. Not a lot of deep talk - just playing detective with plot points researching characters, saying “don’t tell me!” it we found out too much. I think we both felt bad occasionally for spending so many evenings like this. But we never feel bad looking back.




Sweet Enough

You bought me flowers on Valentine's Day, because last year I said I didn't need them and you listened. And then, six days later, on a Thursday you handed me the heart-shaped tin of chocolates over the sick baby I was changing. I promise to try not to dictate your kindness. It's sweet enough on its own.

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