Anniversary

 July 25, 2026

Mother’s 102nd birthday. I found a photo of her on this day in 1945.

SW is dead. We were together from first grade forward. Her having been born in Tokyo was a sensation each first-day-of-school show-and-tell. When I decided to teach myself piano, I asked her to show me middle C. I have thought of her often, wondering where she was. Now I know. 

Alarming stains across my arm are, I recall now, the stain of the poke berries I weeded out last night. 

At loose ends, though, oddly, not in a disturbing way. In a way that makes me think that something inside me is taut with anticipation.