by Holly Day

I look for it everywhere, the magic
I used to see around me. I carefully check
beneath cushions before I vacuum
approach dark, spiderwebbed corners with gentle hands
lie awake to the sound of the house settling
the mice scampering in the attic, holding my breath
hoping that it’s there.

I watch my daughter playing in the yard
singing to earthworms and dancing with toads
and I know she sees all the magical things
I’m missing. I join in on her games
make fairy houses out of mud and broken seashells

share stories of how wonderful it would be
if we were frogs or fairies ourselves
and I can tell she believes
we could be those things of we really wanted to be
that being just what we are is some sort of choice
I can tell she believe this
and I wish I could, too.

1 thought on “Loss

  1. Beautiful, elegant, simple, poignant. The details are splendidly commonplace, the non-puncuated line breaks create a stream-of-consciousness-like flow, and the turns of the last five lines quietly punch us in the gut.

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