Winthrop, ME.

It’s almost as familiar as
the light in my kitchen going out
every October, don’t ask me why.
It comes back on in July.
The men at the counters of the convenience stores
hand me my cigarettes without question,
Light Green American Spirits.
The woman at the Thai restaurant
knows my voice and my order, without question-
Singapore rice noodles, mild- please.
Courtney said I looked cute today.
The mailman gives me letters
as my daughter gets off the bus
with a cookie in his hand for my dog.
Shandra at the children’s store downtown gives me discounts.
My high school boyfriends mother
told me to call her in case of an emergency
A bagger at the grocery store, with a kind soul,
says “she’s getting so big”

every few months
to my daughter, while I’m buying water.
Shannon tells me that my Nana is doing “okay, but you should visit soon”
when I buy Ada some new purple polish
and pick up my prescriptions.

It’s all almost as familiar as
the potholes in the road by the beach
ruining my car, but that’s the way I take home every day.
The owner of the pizza shop
shared birthday cake for her sister
who recently committed suicide.
She was there the last time I saw my mother on Halloween.
When I dropped my daughter at school
on her first day of Kindergarten
the librarian looked at me and said
“You used to go here didn’t you?”
Yes.
I didn’t leave.