Our cousins left this morning for the bus stop
early, as the sun painted the snow
in rose and flame.
We walked our family to the Malibu,
and after Papa got them settled in,
Mama handed Shelley a box
wrapped in a spring-colored furoshiki.
“You didn’t have to pack us a lunch,” Auntie Sachi said.
And Mama said, “It’s a long bus ride to the airport.”
“Bye-bye,” we said to our cousins, and waved
and bowed as Papa backed out of the driveway.
And even though Sharon and Shelley and I are a year older,
we made pig faces
until Mama and I could see only a tail of exhaust.
It’s what we’ll remember until we see them again.
Now our house, with only three of us,
feels twice as big as it did at sunrise.
It’s funny how people can take up so much room
in your heart
but you still have plenty left
for someone else.
Timothy knocks on the back door, his eyes wide,
and asks, “You up for an adventure?”
and Papa says, “Let’s be ready in five minutes,”
like he knows a secret.
Mr. Dell is waiting out front in his truck.
Mama and Papa sit in the backseat.
“Where are we going?” I ask Timothy, beside me up front.
“You’ll see.”