A small white thing grows
If cold does not claim
Mother Penguin walks seventy miles to sea
& Father awaits her return
Uncertain and starving across this wondrous white
They trust and remember
Loss is when elephants pause large gray feet
Bow long gray trunks to mourn
Bodies they knew when small
Playing, snorting the same mud
Now dried into a light and fickle dust
Loss is when whales refuse to give
Their once-calf’s body to cooler
Depths, but they carry on,
Expending energy to mourn
Another day
We listen to voicemails of those we loved
Straining to remember key and pitch
We put on peacoats and scarves
Our grandfathers and grandmothers gave us
Feel them in seam and stitch
We ask for signs of our children gone before us,
Find meaning in heat waves
& Marmots crossing backyards
We huddle together — an ancient
Instinct — to be warm, to be close,
To know the shape of Love
