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.
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.