Loss, Seven Instances
I. The easiest one is the door closing.
Or the coffin door, closed.
II. Six years old in the playground:
trying to put whatever it was that you borrowed
III. Twenty-three years old in your room:
idly rifling through papers in the drawer,
reasoning it’s only a couple bucks,
you can hold out until Tuesday.
IV. After the earthquake, where did your bicycle go?
V. Childhood pets, cold childhood pets.
VI. The other shoe, the other sock,
the other glove, one more chopstick,
knitting needle, earring — all things
you either slip into or stab with.
VII. The missing word, I guess.