The Mail Comes Twice

Journal

I don't move as fast as the porch steps want me to.

The catalogs pile up like they have opinions.

The catalogs could wait.

Then Jordan from next door started bringing the mail without being asked.

He always knocks twice.

Twice was enough.

We drink sweet tea and he tells me about community college.

I tell him about the peach tree that used to be in my yard.

The tea was too sweet. I drank it anyway.

He planted a pit in a pot on my stoop. "Give it a year," he said.

I am giving it a year. I am giving him one too.

A year is a kind of promise.

Jordan asked if he could paint the pot.

I said yes if he stayed for supper. He stayed.

Supper made it a house again.

The pit has not sprouted. I water it anyway.

Some things you keep faith with.

Faith is the watering.