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.