Sink

Joel come in early Monday with a heaving of relief under lazy sunlight. It’s cold in the living room and the warming is slow to start but will soon cover the walls and floor. Stone hang off his shoulders’ edge, that abiding weight. The dog heads out to the backyard, spry and light, trying to catch the first scrub jays of the morning. Dirt kicks up at the back of his jog while Joel watches through the kitchen window. Coffee whispers steam into a distant thought, If this could be the day, could I make it one more time around? Beams of the old patio offer their arms. They are weathered and cracked but they are sturdy enough. Always sturdy just enough. The dog pauses out under the magnolia tree. He looks back toward the house, back toward Joel, a breathless smile receiving the day. Just one more time.