This one is dedicated to my mom, who would have been 100 years old yesterday.

How I Want To Remember Us

We were all there,
the whole family,
sitting on a blanket together.
Waiting.

An entire history of events
had brought us to that moment,
including tragedy and grief
that I was too young
to understand.
None of that would have been obvious
to an observer.

There were also, of course,
the everyday irritations
of being kids together.
Probably one of us
was in a bad mood
over their place on the blanket
or about having had to come
at all.

But suddenly, a boom shook us
and an explosion of color
filled the sky.
Each of our upturned faces
glowed
and troubles, big and small,
were forgotten.

Then.

Just that brief moment
of communal awe.
That is how I want
to remember us.

Afterward, we got up,
shook dirt and grass
from the blanket,
and headed
into the darkness,
completely unaware
of how far from that moment
our separate lives
would one day take us.

By Maria Brady-Smith