Blackbird Archive← v18n2, Fall 2019Poetry · Volume 18, Number 2
First Loss
Only six,
what did I really know
about you?
Saws had taken fingertips.
That I knew
when you took my hand
to guide me across
the country store parking lot
to get a cold glass-bottled Brownie.
In the hall
outside my room,
Mom asked what I wanted to do.
I chose school
instead of the funeral.
The bus brought me home as usual.
The old car ghosted the driveway;
Grandma couldn’t drive.
The rocking chair you made me
swayed through Saturday morning cartoons.
