Hitching a ride, trusting a partner, marrying the same person three times
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The kind you’re born with, the kind you choose, the kind that teach Catholic school
A family recipe, a childhood memory, a Depression-era handout
Waiting tables, dyeing textiles, separating goats in heat
As a refuge, as a threat, as a place to live
After graduation, after a divorce, after an election
On the phone, at a gas station, in our dreams
With fists, with words, with kindness
A stolen letter, a posthumous package, a Christmas card from a stranger
A hasty purchase, a starvation diet, an unwanted pregnancy
A trip to the Antarctic, a 500-mile pilgrimage, a two-hour bus ride
Chinese New Year in Philadelphia, Thanksgiving in Mexico, Passover in prison
Getting married, losing a child, singing in a choir