Every Last Drop / by Laura M Kaminski
How does one go / about dying? / Who on earth /
is going to teach me — / the world is filled
with people / who have never died.”
— Franz Wright, “On Earth”
I sip what’s left, the grace of small surprises
flitting through my life like dandelions
transforming suddenly to finches, taking flight
or the strip of paper in my husband’s fortune
cookie that confirmed (and ended all debate):
THIS IS A GOOD TIME TO BUY NEW SHOES.
Out loud? Rich laughter — I mean, who
gets shopping advice from a restaurant biscuit?
But inside, the layered memories of stained socks
that always need an extra scrub because
the mud finds ways to seep through worn-out soles —
inside, a chorus-line of tiny hallelujahs
burst free from the wings for a round of high-fives.
What’s left in the cup, I sip, grateful I have
not (yet, at least) fallen into the pit of pity,
it’s early-mourning wall so thick I might not
have seen past it, I might have missed these joys.
–Laura M Kaminski, 2014