Loss

B&W version of my sunset photo at Laguna

Here are some of my favorite poems about loss, copyright 2026 Paula Light.

One of Our Geese Is Missing

[free verse]

Never liked their incessant honking—

Worse than a dog on a nightlong howl;

Their ubiquitous shit decorating the sidewalk;

Notes warning us not to bother them

Because California protects its waterfowl.

One terrified my little grandson,

Flapped its obnoxious wings and screamed,

While we strolled around the complex

Enjoying a slow Sunday’s meandering.

Then they had their goslings—

Apparently eggs were stashed

Somewhere in our bushes,

Which explained their aggression.

Cute! Can’t hate babies.

I watched them grow so fast

And admired how the parent geese

Stuck close to the five littles, 

Keeping watch as they nibbled

And swam in formation in the fake lake.

My four-year-old grandson is a third of me,

But in a few months I couldn’t tell

The goslings from the adults,

Especially after everyone’s feathers turned brown

(Except for their fluffy white butt down).

Suddenly, there were only six—

One, a bit larger and still protective,

Mama goose, I assumed,

But maybe she had vamoosed,

Couldn’t take all the noise and poop,

Ran off to hide in a chicken coop.

Or did the dad fly away

In search of a new mate,

A new pond to play in, new eggs to lay?

You know how men are.

Maybe one of the teenagers escaped,

Looking for his or her own place, a clean slate.

God forbid one was shot and

Stewed in someone’s crockpot.

I can’t stop thinking about them;

I keep going outside to count.

Six. Every time six.

Never seven.

They don’t seem to care; 

They peck and swim unruffled and serene.

Perhaps I should take the lesson:

Sometimes you simply have to accept loss

And slog on through the quotidian.

Because what else is there?

You move on, you survive…

Today there are five.

~*~

Whispers (for my mom)

[double tanka]

Memories wear thin

Ground down by the sands of time

Whispers come at night

A voice feathers through my dreams

Her image once again shines

Gentleness remains

Her essential compassion

Clever hands quick smiles

And a wry sense of humor

Her legacy eternal

~*~

Losing an Hour

[free verse]

I wish we could spring our hearts

Forward like the clocks in March

And magically banish the darkness.

I’d love to lose an hour of pain,

Harsh memories and cruel words

That stab me over again like icicles

And drip poison through my veins.

Why can’t I reset my emotions

To bring more sunshine to my field?

I would like to increase my yield

Of love and kindness and laughter

While eliminating every trace

Of the abominable snowman

Who ghosted me in a blizzard

Of stinging criticisms and lies.

I’m tired of creating barbed wire

Out of all the bad times;

I could use that extra hour now.

~*~

French Toast 

[bref double]

I attempt this bref double form, 

Which is French, so it's confusing, 

Like extra vowels flung onto words, 

And how we never had Paris. 

I could text him after midnight, 

Say something sexy out of the norm, 

But his heart remains a glacier; 

I’m the Titanic to his kiss. 

The unwanted memories swarm 

Upon the ravaged beach of dreams

Like tiny crabs after the storm—

Till they get gobbled by the birds. 

My café au lait is lukewarm;

The toast is burnt and cut in thirds.

~*~

Dreamless 

[free verse]

I fell asleep on the bus again,

Or maybe I dreamt I fell

Asleep on the bus.

When I woke,

The sky was lavender

And my hands were cold.

I gathered my things—

Apparently I had shopped—

And maneuvered past

The octopus of legs spread

Across the floor.

These buildings were familiar,

Yet stood asymmetrically

On streets with strange names,

As if a child had flung

All the parts to a game

Haphazardly across a board.

I asked a man for our address,

But he stared uncomfortably.

My words made no sense;

They scattered like coins.

My bag grew too heavy—

I stopped and peeked in.

There were luscious red fruits

That smelled of ripe flesh,

Orchids and death. Spiders

Danced on their mottled skin.

I left the bag on a bench:

My burdens, my sins.

I turned a corner

And found our house, perfect,

Spotless, but you were gone.

I lay down on our bed,

Exhausted and spent,

Falling,

Falling into

A dreamless sleep,

Thoroughly alone

And content.

~*~

On Turning Sixty 

[free verse]

Is April truly the cruelest?

I mixed memory and desire

And ended up with banana bread,

In a year where we all

Baked too much

And didn’t hug enough.

Soon I will be 60,

Sharing my birth month with Hitler

And Valerie Bertinelli.

One day at a time,

Hours melted away,

In a year where weeks blended,

No events to mark

One month from the next

In the pandemic.

“You’re still young!”

They tell me,

“Don’t give up on love!”

Many people turn 60

And 70 and 80,

But not everyone.

My mother didn’t make it to 80;

My father did, more or less.

I remember his 60th—

A birthday party up in Saugus,

Near Magic Mountain,

Where they’d bought a new house

And sold it a year later for a loss.

My dad couldn’t find work—

The insurance companies

Wanted fresh grads with MBAs.

But 60 isn’t old, they say.

Thanksgiving week I drove by,

On my way to Alameda;

The roller coasters stood silent,

Like dinosaurs in a tar pit.

But the rides will clank alive again,

Restaurants will reopen,

And this year will slide into the muck

Of memories best forgotten.

“Think positive!”

I chant my list like a mantra,

Thankful and selfish,

Wanting to keep what I have.

A sky full of cold stars

Shrugs as it slugs

Over these wastelands,

Increasing waistbands,

Indifferent to gratitude.

Time spins out to infinity,

Where numbers collapse

And the present is past;

In one shining moment,

It all makes sense,

But mostly it does not.

~*~

Silence

[free verse]

 

It’s bright, it’s light, it’s

The bad cop, not

The good one. I’m in

A small stuffy room

Without a lawyer,

Without any water.

Every mistake is on the table,

Spread out like a deck

Of jokers,

Each one the death card.

Why didn’t you?

What were you thinking?

The questions bullet;

I have no answers.

Why what who where—

Tears drip onto faces.

Water comes,

I remember medication

Or meditation. End of

Interrogation.

Twilight begins.

Welcome silence.

Not black,

Not a dog.

 

~*~

 

Carousel

[free verse]

 

After love ghosts into clouds,

And dreams dissolve with the sea,

All that’s left is the echo of words,

Swirling through trees,

Whirling on the wind.

Sentences half said

Litter these streets,

Mangled and torn,

Who knows what they mean?

Words haunt my dreams,

Catching me in the bounce

Of an old carousel tune—

Memories of you

Preserved in amberwords.

 

~*~

Southern Mash

Your voice retains

A slight Southern twang,

Barely noticeable,

But I notice 

That warm summer tang—

It transforms your narcissistic pumpkins

Into gilded porch swing coaxes.

Not the deserved frogs and snakes,

But darlins and honeys drip

From your mint juleped mouth,

So sweetly

And irresistibly,

That even now

I can’t remember

What I was angry about.

Come to Wonderland,

You said after a month of silence;

Meet me in Wonderland,

You said with an edge of red velvet promise.

The hint of a future

That never materializes,

The suggestion of the possible,

A tantalization of fantasy…

All tempt me to project my version of reality

Onto your humid jabberwocky

And slide down that rabbit hole

Looking for cake.

But there is no cake,

Only a Cheshire checkerboard

And messages that dissolve at midnight,

Leaving a slight scent of magnolias. 

~*~

Wolf Moon

[free verse]

Cold air settles

On the quilt of memory.

Demonic howls

Draw closer;

Wild eyes

Glow through my window.

An owl

Can hear the heartbeat

Of a mouse

Under a foot of snow;

But you won’t find me

Crying in this house

Of broken dreams.

In winter

One must be practical:

Jars of summer peaches

Lined up neatly;

Stacks of firewood;

Socks twice-mended.

Misty reminiscing

Can wait until spring.

I draw initials

In the frost on the glass;

Come watery pink morning

The demons are sleeping,

While a lone owl circles

The unbending pine trees,

Listening for beats.

No one will find what I

Buried so very deep.

~*~

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Someone I loved once gave me

A box full of darkness. 

It took me years to understand

That this too, was a gift.”

--Mary Oliver

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~