They Ask Me What I Remember

You and Bradshaw’s lists, like prepping for the Zombie Apocalypse

~Photo by author, layout from photos 2017–2019

Brandon I remember,

birthdays and parties, doctors
all of your firsts
walking, talking, school, playing in the snow
Seattle’s forested backyard
holding gigantic slugs
then scrubbing your little hands raw
to remove the slime, you didn’t mind

Little Gym and the earthquake
my Brandy-baby
you just wanted to play and play
Yu-Gi-Oh cards, and don’t forget Pokémon
Legos, trains, dress-up and bedtime rituals
you and Bradshaw’s lists, like prepping for
the Zombie Apocalypse

our Mother-Son lunches in Jax
you of course always saving room for dessert
followed by our walks through the antique
mall in search of treasure
giving you my cell passcode
because you oh-so-did not want
me to text and drive — at least when
you were around