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gray words on a blue sky day
she crawls into my lap
between three margaritas
fifteen bicycle miles
and half the cottonwood-covered zoo

a boy would never do that
he informs us
letting us know how lucky we are
we are
we are
with three little-getting-bigger-every-day
girls
girls
girls

she is absent but we fill in her space
with life stories as twisted as the branches
on the half-dying ash
(the one holding the tire swing)
and the fajitas pop in our mouths
with songs of spicy Mexico
and we remember
(forget in the same moment)
how we came together
how so easily we could come apart
how we remember
how we forget