We sat close on the lunch table bench and passed the pencil between us, writing quickly into a notebook, filling two columns with our invented words and their translations.
All tagged memory
We sat close on the lunch table bench and passed the pencil between us, writing quickly into a notebook, filling two columns with our invented words and their translations.
I found her at the kitchen table with a yellow legal pad.
I think the world must have stopped hurtling recklessly through space.
Whenever I visit we mostly sit as familiar strangers and talk about the tea. Once in a while, though, there’s a small window, five minutes max, when her eyes sparkle.
It only happened once and even in his locked-up world he appeared to immediately realize his mistake.
I’m two, maybe three, wearing a baggy diaper and standing in shin-deep puddle water. Leah’s here too, all pigtails and chubby legs and chubby cheeks.
Remember when our dreams were simply slips of paper, scrawled in minutes, torn with careless confidence, and tacked to beams that crossed through darkness overhead in the attic above your room?
I danced along the village street and a couple called from their rose garden.
I’m helping Jessie cook chicken in the wok. It’s cold outside, but warm in here.
While surfing the web I came across a painting titled Island of Shells. It reminded me of Barbados, my birth island.
I was swinging ever higher on the swing mounted on a sturdy branch of the immeasurably ancient oak. And then I was on the ground …
The black and white photo is loosely tucked into an old photo album of my late aunt.
I drive the coast road through my childhood and teenage years. When I reach the spot where I’m the one who makes the decisions, I pull over for a moment.
I promised Jack that we would make a pudding from my childhood but now, I regret it.