I settle into rocker on front porch
to breathe in petrichor, word I would
never have known if not for my obsession
with Phish I follow as closely as I follow line
of lilies blooming in neighbors’ garden I snap
picture to send son, not that he cares one bit
about keeping up with the same flowers he saw
open every day on our one week’s (five days/every day)
walks I cherish, (week between baccalaureate/
Europe/Eurail/hostel adventure/and new career)
he may never remember, which is the point. He
doesn’t need to tuck memories like I do.