MEMORIAL

She planted marigolds beside every cracked step so the house would never forget how to bloom.

His laugh arrived before he did, warm as a match cupped against evening wind.

We keep the blue mug on the sill; morning finds it and sits there awhile.

Every recipe still begins with her impossible instruction: listen until the onions turn sweet.

He knew the names of winter stars and gave them back to us one slow walk at a time.

The porch swing moves without anyone touching it when rain remembers the old rhythm.

A scarf, a song, a kitchen light left on: proof that absence can still arrange a room.