pavlova

2021

it became real in October
the birthday card that never arrived
we didn’t realize just how accustomed we’d become 
to the annual cadence of 
some grandiose bit of paper
which once seemed so frivolous 
complete with one noisy contraption or another
to thrill the children 
and haunt our quiet hours
we should have known by how long they were retained
a tidy stack of musical missives tucked away in each drawer
year upon year, treasured
with your script adorned
evidence of your kindness to even the least of these
we had to go to the store and buy one
it was so noticed
the palpable void

your decay mirrored our own, but more acute
in March, we had plans
abruptly canceled, a two-fold reasoning
the macro fall out, of everything all at once
shocking then shockingly normalized
for a time almost mundane
your body took a turn as we watched the second wave mount
like a tsunami, ravaging everything 
by fall, we were resigned to the enormity
powerlessness washed over us anew
we cried in the garage together
there was nothing to be said
there was nothing to be done

so what are we to do now
with the space that you have left 

I traced your handwriting yesterday
recipes that have become well worn paths
I don’t know what to do with the hole in the kitchen 
you used to occupy
thoughtfully concocting everything 
a triumph of courses
perfected pavlova
and painstakingly spliced Christmas cards
a double-sided constellation of memories
of lemon trees and tennis tournaments
of bridge games and Tahoe trips 
Jack and gingers and fanatical fandom for losing teams
gingerbread houses, home-baked for the class
long after your children had moved on
of motherhood
to more than your own

there aren’t enough words
and there isn’t enough time 
but it was real good 
while it was good
and we’ll carry the joy
of you
from here