Loss is a Beautiful Brand New Toy
It’s fall again and the imam loves to talk about trees. Third time over the past two years. He says no leaf falls that is not known to the Divine. He looks at me. There is subtext: a lost uncle, a lost classmate, the lost best friend of two beautiful roommates, the lost lover of a best friend. The leaves are pretty here. They turn orange and red. In Colorado it goes: one day green, the next yellow, then brown, and finally, dead. Loss is a beautiful brand new toy, the one I never got as a kid. It’s sort of funny. Your mother’s hand-me-down wedding gown. My mom’s has a gunshot in it. A beautiful baby says “mommy, mommy” after the imam says the word and she does it so loud and clear that I think, God, I hope she never loses that.