While passing the time in a coffee shop
with a latte and Facebook,
a photo pops up of you on a lawn
of dandelions. I laugh to see your elfin face,
short, punky, chestnut hair, silver ring
in your nose. Salut Mahalia
you didn’t die! It’s been a bad dream.
I look again. I see it’s a three-year-old memory.
You and Ellemere in the purple sweaters
you knitted. A happy day with your baby
and your favorite weed, before cancer
took you from us. With cruel
timing, the song we sang at your funeral,
Sarah Harmer’s How Deep in the Valley,
plays on the sound system. I weep for you
my firstborn child. Twelve months now.
Friends say Sorry. Surprised I’m still grieving.
It comforts. Sometimes. After a parent buries
a child there is no gentle choreography to help
us through to the other side past grief.
There is no other side.