Details find me in little 
moments when I’m
feeding the dog or
taking out compost.

I pause 

and they flood into my 
imagination, a tsunami
overtaking my senses
sending me backward
to precise pinpoints in time

when you were still alive, 
when the kids were still little, 
when we had the big
tree in our yard,
when I was a kid,
when we walked through
town holding hands,
when the world felt simpler
and I didn’t know we were
all burning with resources
we forget are finite.

I pause

and for a moment
it all makes sense again,
or it doesn’t and I spiral
into depression on the couch
for hours or days until
I remember
there’s no one else to
do the laundry.