The latest scans show no disease progression. Steady as she goes.
And here it is, late November, and we’re going to put up the tree. Each ornament a memory.
Some lingering. Some old.
Where last year I didn’t think I’d live, and now the miracle of being here again.
Somehow a home to return to. Somehow the sounds of living.
Why am I not astonished?
Refrigerator hum. A car riding by.
The clock ticks, it’s winter, all day
I will remember these things.