Cards begin to arrive:
Photos of children
In red sweaters,
Standing before trees
Beaming with handmade
Ornaments.

The little boy looks just
Like his uncle, I think,
Shocked, as if that was
Not to be expected, as if
He was dropped from a
Spaceship onto the dry
Desert floor where my
Former college roommate
Found him.

Her little girl smiles sweet
Like her grandmother,
And I can see them
Bent over a bowl of flour
And sugar. She is learning
To bake cookies; she is
Counting teaspoons and
Forming equilateral
Triangles.

Will I have anyone to
Teach, I wonder? Or
Anything real to leave
Behind? A few scribbles
On scraps of paper, an
Occasional clever turn
Of phrase. I have made
My choices – but
The season reminds me
What I have missed.