Bred to move along, avoid the roundup,
to reign in the moan that jolts me
like a stone skipping a pond. When I dream
I declare to my dogs of half-sleep—
will you cry for me when the time comes?

Corgis & Labs, all off-leash—all those
stretches of grass made of sleep
flatten out past the rows of marked trees.
Today is marked by my brother’s death. He was
a companion and protector. Suddenly gone.

I am the one who remains, mulling
the question that woke me with something
about who owns what, how to mark it. 
It’s not that we didn’t know death was coming,
the clues screamed in glazed surfaces.

I see myself as the stone thrown,
puzzling the gravity of heavy loss
and retching into a wet shirtsleeve.
I remember too many things right now,
alone and talking to myself.

– Bob Haynes

Author’s Note: This poem was written in 2022, which was not only a year of a continuing pandemic but also a year of personal loss. My brother and sister died early in the year, a little more than a month apart. This poem reflects that loss and the loneliness that comes from knowing I am the last of my family still standing.