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Leaves fall too soon
So terrible to learn
onto the wet earth.
of our neighbor’s oldest daughter.
I walk out to my garden,
First we heard she was killed
cut parsley, oregano, thyme,
in a car crash. She was 23,
pick three ripe tomatoes,
the age between my two sons.
the last of the season.
Marielle was her name.
While the stock and red beans simmer
This morning we learned
I heat olive oil in the skillet,
it was an overdose.
chop onion and leek and stir them in,
I remember what we went through
mince garlic, add it and the herbs,
with our older son.
sauté until onion is transparent,
I gave up on wanting him
add chopped celery, carrots, potatoes.
to go to college, then notched down
Strain the stock, test the red beans—done.
to just finish high school,
Pour sautéed vegetables into stock
then only please come home alive.
I put on a CD, duets by Louis and Ella
Marielle’s mother and I spoke last week;
His rasp, her glide, their humor
how pale and wrung out she was.
and affection, the swing and sway of it
The father of Marielle’s baby had left,
make me smile, dance a bit.
and she’d come home hateful and hungry—
I pour myself a glass of zinfandel,
she’d been diagnosed bipolar.
savor it on my tongue.
Her mother said it helped somehow;
After the soup simmers for 30 minutes
if you can name it you can treat it.
add green beans and tomatoes, simmer another 15.
When Marielle let the dark into her heart,
Add the red beans, heat through.
did she know it would take her all the way down?
Stir in pesto; the fragrance of basil.
It left behind a bitter chalk taste and time
Sprinkle with grated parmesan,
twisted, stretched, yet terribly short,
take to the neighbors.
no thing you can put your hands on.
Leaves cling to my hair, spin off my shoulders.
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