the beginning of loss has ended mom.
you have left me.
i have no desire to watch
the birds perch on tree limbs.
no interest in listening to
the singing of song birds.
not caring to fill up their feeders with seed.
tomatoes and basil and fig trees
i lovingly weeded, fertilized, pruned
at my neighborhood’s urban farm
has been left to rot.
to be picked through and not shared.
you and I laughed how I was your favorite farmiolla
how we couldn’t wait to live together
where i would grow the freshest of everything mom
you would cook like you always had
with love and patience.