by Jason Bredle

So far we’ve been focused on here and now, yet not focused on here and now but there and yesterday—a red kitchen, ceramic roosters, gravel driveway, basketball hoop and fence separating us from the woods. I remember these things fondly, but how will I remember here and now when it becomes there and yesterday? I’ll remember being in love with you and I hope you’ll remember me being in love with you. I’ll remember the silence and the crickets, the sky reddening above the orange groves, trout and eggs, one cat in my arms, the other running toward us with a bird in her mouth.