you're never gonna get it back

This year started with the Spanish twelve grapes (of luck) tradition. A grape for each clock bell strike at midnight (12). Luck for each month of the year. I ate them off a silver platter. Save in my pocket for later. Waking up to the sound of people talking and laughing downstairs. You pass by everyone’s rooms and all the beds are still unmade and there’s a fresh pot of coffee waiting and everyone is still in their pajamas. Save in my pocket for later. To be haunted by a flame. Set it down. Diesel gas, cowhide gloves, horses at night. Save in my pocket for later. Nostrils bloodied, a jaw askew. Nothing left other than a memory, a chemical burn, of something so sweet that once held you, cradled you, nursed you when no one and nothing else could. You can still remember it that way. There’s still a chance. A cut tail, death as a ghost town. Grief occupied. Grief unoccupied. Mourning during golden hour. Herd mourning. Half mourning. Whole mourning. Set it down. Skinny dipping in a hot tub at sunset watching the horses run. Save in my pocket for later. Reading D.H. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterly’s Lover “We fucked a flame into being.” Save in my pocket for later. A flame occupied. A flame unoccupied. Clementines and starling chatter. Put in my pocket for later. Long days in bed. Set it down. Hearing my daughter’s heartbeat for the first time. Save in my pocket for later. My first Mother’s Day, the same age my mother was when she had me. Save in my pocket for later. Eating a Philly cheesesteak in the backseat of a car in summer. Waterfalls. Skin sticky with sweat and swim eating soft serve ice cream. Roadside fruit stand peaches. Save in my pocket for later. Horses every day, lake swimming, Stay a Little Longer, nosebleeds, walking home from the gas station with a gallon of water and red vines. Feeling my baby move for the first time. Keep in my pocket for later. Waking up with numb arms/hands, back pain, lungs hurting in the middle of the night. Set it down. Rodeo, horses at night again, the horse with one eye, sweeping the barn aisle at night to a slow country song. Put in my pocket for later. Every time I was scared or uncertain. Set it down. Every time I felt capable and strong and resilient. Save in my pocket for later. A second horse to die from old age. Set it down. Driving to Sonic every day with the man I love to get ice. Him surprising me with a 10 lb bag of it. Save in my pocket for later. Heartburn, carpal tunnel, peeing every five minutes. Set it down. My daughter being born. My grandmother’s birthday (25), then my sister’s (26), then my daughter’s (27). Save in my pocket for later. Watching my mom become a grandmother, watching the man I love become a father, watching myself become a mother. Watching my daughter’s firsts. Her first latch, her first sleep on my chest, her first bath, her first Christmas, her first coos & gummy smiles. Save in my pocket for later. When my baby repositioned herself so she could lay directly over my heart and I could feel the rise and fall of her chest. How she turned her head in towards my ear so I could feel her small breaths on me. Smell the milk on her tongue. Save in my pocket for later. The pillow my grandmother made for my daughter, her first great-grandchild, using all of the milkweed silk she’s harvested over the past four years. Save in my pocket for later. Thinking about all the traditions that can start, now, it’s not too late. Laying in bed with the family I’ve created. My family. Him, me, her. The days filled with us. Spending the last morning of the year drinking coffee with her asleep on my chest and listening to him talk about a dream. Save in my pocket for later.