MY 90-YEAR-OLD BABE
Is gone but not forgotten.
Her familiar improvised dances
on tops of trees in my yard
continue to earn applause
from every songbird flapping
their wings in an evening breeze.
Sometimes she takes a split
I can feel in the pit of my gut,
or she experiments with moves
I can vividly sense in the auricles
of my rapidly beating heart.
She’s full of life after death,
reminding me of how she never
turned me down even once
whenever I offered her my love.