Like postcards of memory on my mind: / by Christina Rosalie

Last night, nursing Bean I watched the wooden fish mobile from Mexico above his crib turn in slow circles, as though they were swimming in crescents through the air. The five bright sunflowers, each with rough stalks and thick green leaves, from the farmer's market for a dollar a piece, standing in a tall glass vase of water on the table.

The man I see often, his hair in long dreadlocks, with his huge Bull Mastiff who was being attacked by a Boxer off leash, screaming"Who's fucking dog is this, who's FUCKING DOG is this?" And then wiping the blood from his big dog, who was shaking, tail between his legs.

Bean grinning up at me after his morning nap: so happy to be awake in the world again, his pacifier imprinted on his cheeks.

The view from the shore at the beach near our house: college kids and families on picnic blankets, in the water, playing badminton on the grass. The smell of grills, sail boats their anchor's down, dotting the swimming area, the sky bright blue.

Bean and DH cheeks close on the beach, laughing together in the evening sunlight, trees folding shadows down around us, sand between our toes.

Cutting fresh sweet corn off the cob in the kitchen with DH after a day outdoors, making pasta with round ripe tomatoes cut into cubes and basil and sage. Then crashing gratefully into each other on the futon couch, eating dinner with the cats curled up against our knees.