Good

Across the house, little sparks of goodness silver. 

Crickets returning, making a home of the shower drain. 

The tidepool of your body blueing. Sun yellowing. 

The hummingbird nest tucked into the roof tiles. The egg–

blue, brown freckled–will never fall. You want good things 

but you’re not sure you know how to care for them. The record player scratches. 

It skips the best parts. Good thing we remember them. 

The step ladder in the garage. The checkered tiled floor. 

Sliding with our socks. The joints in the mason jars in the closet. 

Ghost noises. Neighbor dogs. Delivery drivers whirring back and forth. 

It seems so little. Taking out the trash on Sunday. The bread in the oven. 

You spend all summer painting the gate blue. 

I spend all summer learning the foxtrot. Feet scratching the floor. 

It seems so small. The egg in the nest. My feet making a whisper 

of the dance. Good things, they say, 

talk of good things.