Mina turned seven in November.
Here is her birthday poem. It's for me really, not her.
Seventh Birthday
what is more painful than loss
the distinct knowledge of that which you held
in the palm
cradled newborn head
reaching far beyond your fingers
by this time there is no stopping it
the world too will end
child limbs that wrangle outside
your longest reach
writing on a poem that's already been written
be careful, dear love, these days
arch out final moments of smallest bodies
rush headfirst into a decade of making
smiles and conversations
yet to be designed
foolishly we think our paradise is out there
not slipping forever past our fingertips
the friction of our lives hurtling
before the vaccuum descends
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