This Poem Has No Ending
I woke up empty and orphaned,
a bundle of tangled blankets at a stranger’s door.
I’d never felt that before the ‘ologists
overran our calendar, outnumbered family
and friend. I wish we’d fought the end
a little harder, but we both knew the truth
of it—that some things are better when
not postponed. So I held your hand
and hummed a tune you taught me,
held my breath when you closed your eyes.
You never were any good at seeing
your baby girl cry.
