My cat’s purr.

Pancakes sizzling on the griddle.

High heels clacking across a linoleum floor.

The roar of the vacuum cleaner.

Static on the radio.

The closet door sliding open.

My computer chiming on.

Toast popping up in the toaster.

A whistling tea kettle.

Crows cawing on my neighbor’s roof.

My stomach grumbling.

Pens scratching on paper.

The swish of a paintbrush in water.

A car starting.

A distant train.

Your slippers on the carpet, padding over to me, and the sound of your smile.

[scs_alt]

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Does Elastigirl’s elastic ever wear out?

Like the waistband on my favorite leggings,

so stretched out that I can’t in good conscience

even put them in the Goodwill bag.

If I had the patience I could sew

a new elastic band in the leggings,

but what does Elastigirl do?

Can she get injections of super-charged

collagen? Or does she have to live

the rest of her life as a regular, non-super

hero? An everyday hero, like you or I,

wearing leggings with a home-sewn

replacement waistband, performing

everyday miracles.

[scs_alt]

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If you had chosen to come to the street fair on Sunday, instead of Saturday, it wouldn’t have been me onstage as you rounded the corner with your mimosa.

Would you have fallen for someone else instead?

If you hadn’t taken a chance and asked me out;

if I hadn’t given you another chance, after a first date in which you were so nervous you could barely speak;

if you hadn’t taken TWO more chances after I broke it off — TWICE;

I’m sure I’d have a good life still, but I’d never have known this particular, surprising flavor of happiness.

[scs_alt]

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You lived in the house at the end of the block, emerging into this world just a month before I did.

Do you remember the colored eggs you put in my basket? You found & picked up 5 or 6 while I was still toddling over to the spot on the grass where one of the boys had just snatched the one that had caught my eye.

My dad caught the whole thing on Super8 film.

The tricycle race, too, where your longer little legs scored you a blue ribbon, which you gave to me as well.

I couldn’t have asked for a better first friend.

[scs_alt]

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What a difference a day makes. The sun

rises and your cells have all switched

places. Or not. On some days,

particularly bad ones, say,

after your cat dies, there is

that moment upon waking

when all is well, before

the reality, the memories crash

bleak blackness over you

until you’re sure you’ll drown.

Those days are the ones that

seem to last forever. But little

by little, the pain integrates into

your soul, and then one day

you realize that you’re happy again.

[scs_alt]

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