Remember

We remember mornings
on kitchen stools,
waiting for coffee to finish.
The kettle doing its usual work.
Nothing said that mattered much.

It seemed enough then.

Evenings came on early.
Streetlights.
The gate closing with that metal sound
that stayed longer than it should.

You felt the day in your body.
Not achievement.
Just having got through it.

Across the street
lights went on in other rooms.
People moving about.
Dinner being made.

It looked settled.
As if something there held.

We watched it
without saying so.

Later the house went quiet.
For some that helped.
For others it didn’t.

Sleep came or didn’t.

You could hear birds sometimes.
Not often.
Enough to notice.

They went on
whether it made any difference
or not.