I just don't want to forget

the piles of provisions, elaborate worlds where soldiers must be hungry

and the piles of art, churches with columns and stained glass, waterfalls and block letters and drawings of I don't even know

the way Tolliver sleeps with a football and the fastest quarterback dreams

the way Hank sought permission to apply "eye lipstick" when older girls were offering porch makeovers and how he clarified whether his pediatrician would like him to name primary, secondary or tertiary colors

the way it feels to have all three kids in school and a cat on my lap

the way Tucker always has something to tell us, usually accurate and insane (there's a new ocean, with a boring name), the way he is so earnest and sophisticated

the way he reaches for the hand of the kid next to him at the finish line, raising fists in victory

I just don't want to forget these things

or to feel baffled at the wonder of it all