The cabinet is home to stacks of grade schoolwork, fourth- and fifth-grade science, third-grade history, and a kindergarten unit on ___. I don’t know where second grade lives, it’s bound to be here – somewhere. I can still hear its origins in early-September heat – and its movements – high-pitched laughter and sentences strung of two, then three, ultimately four syllable words.
A’s opinions expressed as chirps. We’d laugh. She was as insistent as the red robin that frequented our window. As sweet, too. Its scent – freshly laundered Ts and grass-stained knees – lingers in my memory. Its sounds, too.
Tweets were still birds. Clouds, sources of rain. sss a desired once-in-a-lifetime destination, rather than a daily guest. And dropbox the copper container where my children turned in their ni
