What did you make?
Who did it reach?

After my divorce I started photographing my block at 6am. Same corner, every day. By week three the man who opens the bakery started waving. By week six I was photographing him. We talk every morning now.

I crochet one granny square per night shift. The other nurses started picking colors for me. The blanket is ugly and it belongs to all of us.

I'm 67 and I write one postcard a week to someone I've lost touch with. Eleven postcards out. Four phone calls back. Best math I've ever done.

Moved to a new city, knew nobody. Started a beat tape and posted one rough loop a week. A stranger from two neighborhoods over DM'd me a bassline. We've made fourteen tracks. I've met his mom.

My grief counselor told me to journal. I drew instead — one tiny ink sketch of something my mother loved, every Sunday. I mail them to my sister. She framed the whole first year.

I bake bread badly. I started leaving a loaf on my elderly neighbor's porch with a note rating my own failure. He now leaves the notes back, graded. We are pen pals across a fence.