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.