Barbara Reynolds:
In Autumn of 2018, a losing season was upon us. Losses from fires, bombs, and bullets seemed to be mounting, and nature went about her way losing leaves, daylight, and degrees. I wanted to write a poem about all these things that would be lost. While writing I learned that a good friend was losing his sight, his hearing, and slowly his mind. Then it was discovered that his pains were due to a brain tumor. He had an operation attempting to remove the tumor, and afterwards, in January 2019, began chemotherapy treatments. He was given six months to live. Six months. I couldn’t stop thinking of all his lasts – those that had passed and the ones that were to come, how long his life would finally last, and the family and friends that had lasted a lifetime. I wrote this poem over the next six months, going back to it again and again. Each time never the same, never the last, the word being so broad and weighty. The last time I saw him, I held his hand.