This winter I lost
my waist,
my nest egg,
my columns,
our 90-year-old maple
whose tired roots surrendered to relentless storms,
my patience with slumdog renters,
a gazillion arguments,
all of my geraniums,
gallons of tears.

Some losses,
such as mean husbands,
bad-tempered dogs,
testy teachers
a smelly crummy nasty cigarette habit
tend to be semi-sweet, half and half, not so bad.

Others hurt like vinegar in a fresh wound.
They sting
and sting
and sting,
poisoning parts of your heart
indefinitely, but who said forever?

Angela Allen
April 20, 2009
Riley, Ore.