Last Night, the Little Dipper Looked Like the Walgreens Pharmacy Cup

On the street, I pass a man eating a sandwich and the waft of onion walks with me a while. The rattle of metal tags on a collar and I always have to look, make sure the dog isn’t loose and fierce. Three weeks ago, my mother died and I thanked God. This week, a glance at her photograph reminds, feels like a slap to my heart. The cards, flowers, and phone calls have stopped. Already. I almost turn around on the street and return to the company of the smell of onion, offer my hand for it to take.