I was drinking my coffee when I felt
a familiar sensation— do you know it?
Like being naked but not exactly,
just because I forgot to put on
my favorite earrings. At the same time,
I remembered where I'd left them:
on the counter in my hotel room just
before I checked out at 3 in the morning,
anxious about Thanksgiving traffic and lines.
They were a pair of gold-colored, simple
circlets mounted on a stud. I am good
at remembering, but after the moment I was
supposed to remember. Maybe 6 years ago now,
I bought those earrings in the Portland
airport coming back from a writing conference.
33 years ago I remember waking my daughters
so they could see me off at my departure
from another airport. I did not have the heart
to wake the youngest, a toddler, from the depths
of heavy, blissful sleep. I hope they remember
things like this, more than the leaving.