Lost
       

Admit it: more interesting
is the uncoupling of things:

June slugs shedding faintly yellow
slime; the spare thumb

from a premature hand.
Parents. Commemorate

things lost, the duos split.
Honor these separates—heavy

drops of slug, sixth digits,
Sonny Bono—if only

because somebody should,
before everything single

is lost in the din of coupled
things. But let them whirl

only briefly, like the storms
that die before they even get
to be named for women.

Copyright © 2010 Christina Olson All rights reserved
from Before I Came Home Naked
Spire Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission