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What Did We Know of Loss?
by Carol Ayer
We behaved as we were supposed to,
stayed quiet and still.
We didn't kick the seats in front of us
nor torment each other
the way we did in the car.
But the words were empty to us.
What did we know of loss?
We lost marbles
and sunlight in the winter,
not people we loved.
Our mother cried softly
behind her black veil.
But when the priest spoke of dust and ashes
we thought only of our fireplace,
the chimney, and Santa Claus.
We never could understand the difference
between Santa Claus and God.
Both remained unseen,
familiar only through drawings,
each requiring us to be good.
At the reception we ran free,
laughed and twirled on the lawn.
Inside, we stole bits of cake and tart,
then climbed the stairs to play Battleship.
It wasn't until Christmas
that we finally grasped the truth:
Grandpa was gone
and he wasn't coming back.
Even then, we were more interested
in what we had received
than what had been taken away.
What did we know of loss?
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