I’m going to see my sis today.
She loves when I tell
her stories. [Laugh.] So I’m
wearing my fossil bracelet with
a chambered nautilus [66 million
years old]; Amber [I’ll make up
a date]; A shark tooth — not a fossil.
Always the same large cups, mine from Fretboard and his from Trailhead.
Always the same dance of the mugs, clinking the ceramic, the scalding first sip.
The coffee is a ritual of purpose, of togetherness.
Of starting a day, and taking on a responsibility for myself and another person.
Something I chose and continue to choose.
We were simpatico, mostly, except when you slipped into your father’s skin. Your dad and mom were hand in glove, you bragged. His hand, her pliant glove, I thought, but never said.
Every year something arrived in my mailbox, before during or after;
the timing unrelated to any mystery
you’d entered and explored
before emerging with that year’s
small parcel summation…