By Constance Miles, 11/23/20
I call wanting to bring soup.
You’ve just turned on the stereo.
You say you’re ready to have
music back in your life.
When I arrive, you tell me
You’ve just laundered Tymon’s
turquoise shirt. You say you’ve
been hugging it, remembering
the last time it was worn. You
were both watching a movie and
Tymon turned to you with an
impish twinkle in his eye. You
chuckle at that.
And such is grief: One day,
consumed with doubt about
your mothering-Did you do
enough? Could you have done
more? Could you have saved
him from himself? The next,
you’re savoring the sweet-
ness of living together,
knowing he’ll forever nestle in your heart.