Don’t mythologize anything
like how it was to be three—
you were there and yet you were not.
By now, your memories are at least
75 percent the nacre of time,
year upon year, layers as yellow as
a ’70s living room carpet, say, or
formerly white floor-length curtains,
a puff of nicotine, billowing.
Today’s prompt in the Poem a Day Chapbook Challenge was “three.”