It’s going to be the little snippets.
Shopping with my mom, even though I hate shopping,
and smelling the scented candles at Kohls
until we wait on a long line together before leaving the store.
My dad giving me rides to work,
playing country music that makes him cry
and understanding why he would cry, too.
Grandmothers saying, I love you, a few times over
and hugs that tightly squeeze around the back,
but I don’t care if it’s too tight.
Listening to the Hanukkah song, Maoz Tzur, because it’s really pretty,
and my mom has to hear it after we light candles,
but also, sipping Eggnog with my cousins to The First Noel.
Japanese takeout sprawled out on the bed, we can eat a lot;
and asking for extra ginger and spicy mayo, hold the soy sauce,
and laughing when they give us so much ginger that it could feed ten.
Floating in the pool as his puppy swims in after us,
while we make sure he stays afloat and doesn’t shake too hard,
and we feel young and protected in the night air.
The birds chirping in the winter and the first park outing in the spring;
Beach drives in summer and fall breezes that store adolescence;
seasonal changes that are kept inside our being like muscle memory.
It's going to be the little snippets.