Mr. G

Mr. G waited patiently
on the shelf next to his twins
and he saw them lifted away
one by one until finally
he was the last
to go.

Then the little girl
from her stroller reached
her arms as far
as they could stretch
and yet she needed her mother
to lift him down
to her.

The two became inseparable
as they grew to be great friends
who played and loved and slept
through all the adventures
that a child needed
to know.

But one day Mr. G sat
forgotten on concrete wall
when the little girl needed
two hands to hold her cone
and then she began
to go.

Later, she cried inconsolably
and would find no replacement,
for who can take the place
of the dearest friend
to her.

Years have grown her to a woman
with her childhood pictures
close at hand
showing a little girl
holding tight to Mr. G
as if she had a psychic gift
to know:

Mr. G would go.

Hand Tools

I brace myself
when the first one comes
with knowledge
of more to come.

For they build in threes
my auntie says,
trouble and sorrow,
and death.

And family comes
to help construct a wall
holding me sturdy
through the blurring
of the days.

But then alone
when they thought
me strong,
my façade is broken,
softened by the touch
of my cat’s paw.