The Art of Losing

I lost a library card last Tuesday.  

Lost two jackets to the wind before.  

Lost a bus that sped right past me,  

lost pencil tips ground down to dust.  

Do you know how it feels to lose  

a whole hour waiting in silence,  

or how a sock’s absence haunts you,  

its partner collapsed, folded in grief?  

I lose names like pennies in couches.  

Lose the sun when clouds are too bold.  

Lost a friendship, once, to impatience;  

lost sleep tracing shapes of regret.  

But losing, I’ve learned, is an opening.  

A letting go, fingers soft in surrender.  

What’s gone isn’t always a disaster,  

it makes space for whatever comes next.