This afternoon a child born from a spark of my own DNA fell asleep with his head on my chest, and for one perfect moment all was right in this fucked-up world.
I’m realizing that “is this how this thing is supposed to feel?” is probably a counterproductive question. but still it runs laps through my head…
It’s been almost twenty-five years since I’ve been inside, but I remember it clearly (clear, like a photograph slightly yellow with age but infused with memories).
Last night while I was mowing the lawn barefoot by the last light of dusk, I found myself wondering how long I’d be here. Is this little rental on the north edge of Minneapolis a many-years home, or just a right-now home? I don’t know.