firsts that feel like lasts

ok and also, a poem

Everything is a strange collection of firsts

that feel like lasts

since she left

First caprese from the garden

First time eating her favorite type 

of pickle

First time making cookies since she’s been gone

Two nights before she left 

she made a batch of molasses cookies

They were marvelous

She made them in the night

After the rest of us were already in bed and asleep

She has always loved the house 

And especially the kitchen 

In the wee hours

Listening to audiobooks 

Or podcasts

And letting herself play 

in ingredients  

in chemistry

Much the way she 

Loves to mess about with texture 

And textile 

And pattern

She is here

In this unfolding series of firsts

When those are all used up 

and the distance between then

and now

has grown

I imagine her here 

in some other 

unexpected yet utterly

obvious form

So much of the day 

I relay to her in my 

ongoing mental prattle

The this or that

of a funny expression 

or perfect turn of phrase 

Or of the light just so through the trees

Every time the sky looks exceptional

Which is nearly all the time

She is there

In my heart and mind

teaching me what it means

to love the sky