Although she can recall small / details from her childhood / in Cedar Rapids, and the words / to every song she's ever learned, / she thinks Christmas is past when / it hasn't, can no longer judge distance / from sorrow.  Last week, we found her / sad, alone, in her little room, / blue over having lost her husband / the week before, when it has really / been three years- her brain betraying / her to experience again / and again the key losses / of her life.

The best part of a snowy day, like today, / is the meander of hot tea as it makes its way / down a throat and the crunch of toast sheathed / in a marmalade greatcoat that makes / the world feel warmer while sticky / flakes carpet the yard.

Two elderly people / with few years to spare, / trying to pause the remaining / borrowed hours given to us / from vanishing too quickly. / But, the hours, / incapable of being stopped from dwindling into the past, / continue to roll on into memories. 

What if one day I / Awake to a weeping willow in the / Center of my lungs, yet aren’t I now / Feeding, taking, drinking, loving in / My limbs, hands like anchors drag / Out silt, cuddle with ecosystems ofAmbition, until I am drained of my / Purpose

The bee’s wing has broken, world’s finest glass / now a shattered mosaic across the sidewalk. / You reach out to touch it and it splinters / under your soft touch. A small life is ending / right here at our feet. The sun covers everything; / you think nothing should hurt in this world. /

I met both of you in art class / one spinning clay / the other painting a sunset / our lives pulled to an audience to show the imitation of art / the sunset bowing down / mirrored you bowing out /