There are moments I want to remember forever
You and you are sitting on the back porch steps. Blonde hair, small heads, small boys, rubber garden gloves and small shovel- rakes and sunshine,
and you
In a cloud of walnut sawdust, bent over a router, the sawdust in the air like snow and the air is warm and nutty and your arms and hands are covered in tiny intoxicating wood shavings
I will not take a picture of my husband because I want to remember the walnut smell --strong-- in the half-dark and the sound of the router and the sawdust as you bend over the jewelry holder you are making for me
We are in the garage, at night,
And the first memory was earlier today
The first day of spring, and we smelled blossoms this morning and Jesse held a small pink one in his hands and brought it to his nose, again and again
And you, Willy, you are learning and there is so much of it to do. You gave each of your cousins and friends gift bags with slinkies and stuffed animals and a small, red-wrappered chocolate with peanut butter inside, and when you accidentally went off the rock jump that none of the older boys would touch, you cried but said right away, “I want to keep biking” and we all have accidents and sometimes we have four, like today, but next time we will do without the shame.
We are learning too, you and I, you and I.
How good, to learn at home in Spring.
