In the Early Summer,
I drink sticky gold sunshine and nibble velvet pink roses
and breathe the air of Saturday mornings:
Saturday mornings when I wake up to a tangle of sheets
clock hands at 7:30
window draped in sleeves of sun and the brush of a breeze
the Outside Green smiling so vibrantly that all other greens are a muddy brown.
Saturday mornings when I open my door and inhale
dark, fresh coffee, ground and pressed and poured
sweet air of the blue sky filtered through the screen door
lemon and eucalyptus cleaning spray, settling down on the upturned house,
dark and sweet and lemony with Green and Blue and Golden Pink.

One day, when I am young and married and my children awake from Friday night slumber,
I hope my husband likes coffee and open doors and early-morning cleaning,
because that is what my children need to draw in their nostrils
and swallow down to their toes.
There will be something for my husband, too,
to awaken his nostalgia, maybe on Sunday afternoons or snow days or in thunderstorms.
We will dig up the memories that are an aroma to him, and I will also love them.
We will, without knowing it, create something else besides:
something flavorful and homey that our children will know
one day, when they are young and married and their children…