(lost 13% of my baby)
the littlest one turned three in May,
haven’t seen her in the flesh since March,
parents inform, all gone,
they’ll be disappearing
to another state,
all of July, gonzo.
I say
go forth safely, that’s great.
redefining social distancing.
measured not in feet,
or even by Sara B.’s
borrowed ‘many the miles,’
but in longer specificities:
maturities,
weeks and months,
parts of years,
parts of lives,
March, April,
May, June,
now July.
five months.
counted them on one hand,
many times,
at 3:00am
cause I could not believe
the summing of my subtraction
somehow disappeared,
from our calendars
these monthly ** markings,
months wiped clean permanently.
did a quick calculation.
we’ve lost 13% of her
entire life,
can’t be regained.
her first:
big girl bed,
playing first video game,
another birthday party,
candles extinguished by
a single big girl blowing,
dancing, dancing, and more,
driving her scooter in the apartment,
like only a mad woman can,
(stuffed animal riding the handlebars,)
blowing pretend Zooming belly kisses
on her button,
hiding neath the dining room table,
her laughing uproariously,
with never a “stop poppy.”
13%.
a specific amount,
a poem irretrievable,
a blood loss, that
can’t be transfused,
plasma irreplaceable,
containing antibodies
to a specific virus
Sorrow Unique-19
nah,
nothing
it got nothing
to do with that new forehead
furrow, that slow-suddenly appeared.
nah.
“just, these are the days...”^
Jun 12, 2020
Jun 12, 2020 at 1:21 PM UTC
(lost 13% of my baby)
the littlest one turned three in May,
haven’t seen her in the flesh since March,
parents inform, all gone,
they’ll be disappearing
to another state,
all of July, gonzo.
I say
go forth safely, that’s great.
redefining social distancing.
measured not in feet,
or even by Sara B.’s
borrowed ‘many the miles,’
but in longer specificities:
maturities,
weeks and months,
parts of years,
parts of lives,
March, April,
May, June,
now July.
five months.
counted them on one hand,
many times,
at 3:00am
cause I could not believe
the summing of my subtraction
somehow disappeared,
from our calendars
these monthly ** markings,
months wiped clean permanently.
did a quick calculation.
we’ve lost 13% of her
entire life,
can’t be regained.
her first:
big girl bed,
playing first video game,
another birthday party,
candles extinguished by
a single big girl blowing,
dancing, dancing, and more,
driving her scooter in the apartment,
like only a mad woman can,
(stuffed animal riding the handlebars,)
blowing pretend Zooming belly kisses
on her button,
hiding neath the dining room table,
her laughing uproariously,
with never a “stop poppy.”
13%.
a specific amount,
a poem irretrievable,
a blood loss, that
can’t be transfused,
plasma irreplaceable,
containing antibodies
to a specific virus
Sorrow Unique-19
nah,
nothing
it got nothing
to do with that new forehead
furrow, that slow-suddenly appeared.
nah.
“just, these are the days...”^
^Van Morrison “These Are the Days
These are the days of the endless summer
These are the days, the time is now
There is no past, there's only future
There's only here, there's only now...
These are the days now that we must savor
And we must enjoy as we can
These are the days that will last forever
You've got to hold them in your heart.
Request permission to use this poem