a list of things to save


Petals from that first bouquet, pressed firmly against the pages of an old journal you 
are no longer sad enough to write in; this year you finally understand how people can 
wear their hearts on their sleeves. The accompanying letter—you have to believe that 
these promises are plans. Photos of children who have stopped chasing butterflies
and started chasing dreams, who bruise more than elbows and knees, parts of their
bodies kisses and candy can no longer cure. Anything that makes you proud: a stellar
report card, a note from your teacher, that one time you looked down and realized
you have grown up exactly the way you wished you would. Your best friend's number. 
A detailed description of what you will do when you win the lottery, or when you turn
30, or when your daughter asks, after a bad day at the playground, how many other
boys will make her cry. Grace for when things are going your way, and grace for when
things aren't. Grace for whenever you need it the most. Hope. Blankets for warmth,
keep them in a dry place because today the sun is dancing and you are free to shed all
those layers, harsh and heavy. Petals from that first bouquet, your springtime is here.