To accompany a book of photos (but the photos never come).
- A cake platter after the cake is gone. And no one even told you there was cake.
- Firing a Nerf missile across cubicle-land . . . and no one fires back.
- A newly planted oak tree—with shiny steel supports, and a green beaver-proof boot—snapped in two.
- Leather-bound books smartening up the decor in a crowded furniture store.
- Forgotten Valentine’s roses in an empty house, in May.
- Almost anything by Phoebe Bridgers.
- Spoon River Anthology.
- “G’night, Chris! Don’t stay too late. Lock up when you leave.”
- Two-year-old Hannah, strapped in her stroller, coughing and whimpering in the waiting room: “Oh! Medicine!”
- The sound of a master oboist. And the silence when it’s over.
- Atheism. For a believer.
- Your mother, crying in another room.
- Alphabetization. Especially on a Saturday night.
- Sugar-free Peeps.
- The death of Chingachgook’s only son, Uncas, in The Last of the Mohicans.
- Moldy bread. Unless it’s Wonder Classic White.
- The last piece of Halloween candy at the bottom of your pillowcase. And it’s a Mary Jane.
- Dining alone by the seaside, next to newlyweds.
- An owl in the night, and no one to tell about it.
- Your sadness here.