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