Latte, pain au chocolat, Sunday’s New York Times.
Then Monday, Marvelous Market’s gone without a trace.
Months on, another cafe opens there. It’s not “that place”
for me. I stay away.
Lavandou—cuisine of the south of France—
reminded me of summer weeks, Provence!
Then, one day, whoosh! That restaurant’s gone;
Another treasure lost; I feel forlorn.
Accustomed now to losses more severe,
(at my age friends may disappear like mist)
I want my consolations fixed and set,
my brick and mortar backdrop in its place.
It’s hard enough to lose friends’ flesh and bone,
their banter, voices, laughter gone for good.
Like you, I’m just one actor on my stage. The cast
dwindles small before I think it should.
On New Year’s Eve Gordon, descending
steps to party, fell, was gone.
Bea, light and frail, walked to the polls
Election Day, and windblown flat, was spirited away.
And Molly’s Mike lost hearing, wandered halls,
then disappeared. So many gone—
Jan’s songbird John, sang his last words,
then she heard silence.
I’ve lost a closest too, quite long ago. Another
closest came, but that took years. It’s later now;
I know how flesh and bone can quickly disappear.
I need my bricks and flesh both to stand still.
©2014 Marguerite Beck-Rex