Lines of poems live in my head—

If I must remember everything—

this will stand for grief—

the moment of change is the only poem—

yet I woke this morning

thinking of memories that do not change:

the ice rink, the swings, the monkey bars,

the climbing trees, the playground ponies,

your backyard house, the green sloping hill

that is still there while the ice rink, the swings.

the monkey bars, the climbing trees, the playground ponies,

your backyard house: all gone.

Yet here.

A trove I carry like:

cancer, grief, the sun will come out, purple twill pants

with white piping, bells signaling on-time & late,

a list of the girl with money’s outfits.

If this is what I carry, let me also carry:

sunset, moonrise, a razor clam flipping

toward home, chatter with strangers

who saw my red clogs & pink knit hat,

the way I offer me & you offer you

the way we carry the heat of the Midwest sun

at 3pm during summertime

the way we reach for happiness

& then hold: sunset, moonrise, a razor clam flipping

toward home, my daughter’s head on my lap

soaking in our shared light:

you must remember this.