Story

We were walking under maples.
That’s all.
It was enough to bloom inside my chest:
This.  Just this.
My daughters’ small hands folded in mine,
one on either side of me.
Late evening light
blurry through winter-bare branches.
We were going to see
the Christmas light-up downtown.
I had extra mittens and
a thermos of hot chocolate
in a backpack.
It happened suddenly,
that soft thud of
the self landing squarely for a moment
in the center of its own life.