Prompt #14: One moment, replayed in words: "In the hospital room, April 2, 1991, gowned up, contracting steadily, thoroughly. My crotch, of course, facing the door, and for maybe two hours of contractions I had the mental space to be seriously ticked off by that. Double BB using the thumb and fingers of one hand to count me through: 1-2-3-F-O-O-U-U-R, long exhalation, start over. At 5 centimeters, everything stalled. Dad arrived, pitocin was given, and when that kicked in, BB got summoned to do admittance and insurance paper work. So he showed Dad what to do, and Dad took over seamlessly, tenderly, gently. 1-2-3-F-O-O-U-U-R. Took me 5 minutes to go from 5 to 7, and only another 5 to go from 7 to 10. I remember saying sternly, "I! WANT! TO! PUSH!" The nurse, surprised, checked me again and a flurry began. Hallway dash to the delivery room, hard stainless table, glaring lights, a different doctor, push, push, push, BB's hand in mind, push, push. But you stuck -- forceps tugged you out. I heard, "It's a boy!" and said, "YESSS!!!!!!", then began to shiver. The doctor tilted you up so I could have a look, then you got whisked away and I got enveloped in heated blankets while they stitched me up. 12:03 a.m., April 3, 1991: KEVIN DENNIS BROWN." Prompt #15: Favorite month: "Give me September, in her poncho of blazing color, fringed in falling leaves & redolent with the smell of fires, pine, north-tinged winds, the farewell songs of winged creatures lacing her with melodies. One last camping trip, school supplies & clothes, laying of blankets on beds & throws on the arms of sofas -- & pulling out a favorite pair of slippers. Hot chocolate on the patio in the slowly-darkening mornings." Least favorite time: "July in Phoenix is hardest -- sweltering & unfriendly with blistering light -- but then come the monsoons & my heart revives, captivated. Also, I struggle with the long space between President's Day and Memorial Day -- no time off, no holidays, just the relentless monotony of work & hurried weekends." Prompt #16: "Quiet on Sunday mornings -- too early even for the birds, just the coffee maker & my pen scuffing across a page. Pulse & daydreams make themselves known like strange chimes that only sound in windless air. Sustained thoughts a soundless internal vibration, lately pulled like threads woven back to my earliest memories, still beating." Prompt #17:"Amy, like a sparkling ruby just ahead of me, older by a sometimes critical, sometimes irrelevant, 5 years -- leading, but sharing, an energy bomb, a wildfire of talent and trouble -- how eager I was to emulate you, to glow in your cast shadow -- then somehow, suddenly, we were peers, & best friends. No topic too small or too large for us to tangle with, take on, or talk about. I've admired you since I was 5, loved you since I was 15, thought of you every day since then, stood up for you at your wedding, stood behind you when you separated-then-reconciled, met your kids & introduced you to mine, even loved one of your brothers. Geography is just a meaningless physical distance -- there has never been a moment's hesitation between us when we've closed that gap. I know you love me; you know I love you -- it's a simple and unique as all the history we've created together." Prompt #18: "I am the colors of the sea -- rich & robust beneath, in the under-currents, and shimmering with visions at the surface, permeated with tides that transform the colors and sometimes leave me only translucent, & cresting."