the weight of it

the presser foot that mom
attaches to the sewing machine
so that the already-there stitching groove
guides the needle
through fleece
as mom and i work on
attaching a new zipper

smell of  what i swear is pinon wood burning
(which is an instant transport/time travel
to two years ago at this time,
running the mountain town streets while
frost still clung to the alfalfa
and the sun had already broke across morning sky
and everything
was unfolding and everything
was absolutely perfect)
as i round the bend, running, 
along what mom calls the holding ponds
where a small paved trail makes its way
past ponds and milkweed and cattail and cardinals flying through the webs of bare branches

an early christmas present izzi says handing me 
a small glass tub
of izzi-made lip scrub (bubble gum flavor)
the weight of it cool and pleasing
in my palm

the big warm bowls of noodles
that chris and izzi and i pass
back and forth
at the family table
while eli notices weirdly located outlets and
isaiah downs his mac and cheese and nica
joins us in her workshirt and hair swirled into a bun under her black cap

from the water world:

A girl showers her sister at the displacement camp for earthquake victims at Chuchepati in Kathmandu, Nepal. – voice of america, day in photos

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