The kitchen is tidy

The baby is nursing

Supper started in the slow cooker my sister gave me

I practice banjo in my head (to the beat of the laundry spinning in the dryer)

and I try, I try, I try

to not just think or know or believe

but like the teacher says-

I try to feel

this moment 

this poem

this feather light happiness

before it melts into 

the sea of days I don’t remember