the things we bought in gift shops to drink from hold on to memories more tightly than I realized

I was doing fine—

I was —

until I decided to pack

up the coffee mugs,

and I remembered

how you insisted

that we buy one for every

place we visited,

and how these ceramic things

can hold coffee, tea

(both hot and cold)

and memories.

​

On so many mornings

I drank coffee

from that time

you slipped

and almost fell

at Crater Lake,

and you drank your English Breakfast

from our trip to Santa Fe,

where we laughed

when we got lost

looking for a place to eat.

​

Then there was the trip

we took to see

the gateway arch

in St. Louis,

when one kid lost his tooth

in the backseat

while we drove

down I70, and the other

saw a doctor;

she took in

to much water

in her ear -

it got infected -

and the doc gave her some pills,

and we never climbed the arch

but still managed somehow

to find the gift shop

where we found a good deal

on a mug that holds all of that in it

and also sometimes your chamomile.

​

Wanting to bring

some of these things

with me, I took from the shelf

the mug our daughter got me,

the one that called me

the number one dad.

I wrapped it in newsprint

and placed it in a box

labeled “kitchen stuff,”

closing the lid

on this moment and mug.

​

Another one was chipped,

quite by accident, I tripped,

knocking off the shelf our wedding mug.

Coffee cups, like other things-

they break, they fall apart,

they shatter on the kitchen runner rug.

​

Things fall apart, connections shatter,

shards of broken pieces scatter -

and I can’t really even tell you why it matters.

​

But I was doing fine—

no really, I was—

up until that point.

But now I've spilled it everywhere.

​

​

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