a selfish child.

It explodes over

trifles. This 

morning, my hair 

dryer broke.

Maybe ten years old

and inexpensive, it

lasted longer than

most. I bought 

another— almost the 

same,

down to the color,

a smoky blue.

Still, I teared up

throwing the old one 

in the trash. It landed 

with a plastic thud.

When I bought it, 

you were still alive.

Though you never

touched it, never even 

saw it, you could 

have. You will never

see the new one.

That fact was enough 

to            leave           me 

quivering         another 

hour

over the loss of you.

My howling reminds me 

of how real you were. 

I loved your presence on 

this earth so much that, 

should I ever stop

crying, I would even 

grieve the loss of that: the 

catch in my throat, the 

tears.