The feeling of cheap paper when you’ve written on both sides of it—how it folds so easily in your hands.
Parking lot reverberations from speakers—public announcements or the radio.
The smell of dark, dusty leather.
Doing dishes with someone.
Wet asphalt.
The scar in the middle of my lip and the lump on my rib and the crescent on my hand.
Ringing poetry.
Some days I’m in love with everything I see.
1 response so far ↓
Grandma Jan // June 24, 2009 at 9:51 am |
Your Grampa and I spent our first evening, alone together, washing up the dishes, after a New Year’s Eve dinner with our bridge playing parents. We laughed and howled and broke some dishes and laughed some more. We’re still laughing together after 59 years.