To say it doesn't matter anymore is to forget;
hum of the hatch, weight of tomatoes, child.
I lost a friend in her birth bed, mere weeks after I lucked to learn
my own newborn's language; breast-lunge, mouthing, cry.
I believe in a God of the living and dead—
I sort refuse, wash diapers, shovel compost in the rain.
I try and try and.
