As soon as the crow lit beside me
in the parking lot I knew
there would be bad news. Next your photo fell
from its home on the wall. For weeks I held
my breath. At last the call. 7 hours later
I am knee deep in our shared history,
trying on your mountain childhood
like a borrowed dress.
I want to ask you once more
about the sapphire ring you gave me,
but my courage fails us both.
I go through old photos. I hold
the porcelain geisha statue
I gave you 25 Christmases ago.
Like you she’s smaller
in my hand now.
I know if I’m not careful,
if I let go,