Funeral of Lost Things

by Wendy Booydegraff

A letter from my mother, sent  
but not received. A diamond,

 

loosened from its prongs. A voice,  
once lovely, now raspy, uninspired. Toss

 

this mishmash of the lost in a shoe  
box. Dig a hole. Hold a ceremony

 

alone.           Speak words over what  
you will not see again. Fill the empty

 

nest. Cover the lid with soil, tamp
down with seeds from the garden.

 

Leave it alone, these small deaths.
See what rises in their place.