in the early years when I would approach, she’d spring like a rabbit and scrabble away every leg, frantic on the the wood floor, slipping to gain footing like a hotrod burning rubber before peeling away her little game of catch me if you can now wobbly, deaf and blind, her eyes gaze at something that’s not me or this world, a dark silent universe she is careful to traverse with a little heart needing a lift off the bed a gentle push towards food and a long kiss I ma

first steps first bicycle first day of school first graduation first time leaving home first car, apartment, job first time falling in love first shattered heart uncountable all the firsts that became forks in the road, fresh paths to another first but in my well-worn age, less desire for new and novel, preferring the comfort in routine and being quite aware the first step of each day moves us closer to the last

I’d like to tell those who let others tend to their landscapes - you’ll miss seeing and smelling the first, the happiest rose on the bush and never encounter the ground squirrel family that’s been living under those shrubs on either side of your walkway, or touch one of the aloe flower stems, thrusting yellow into sky where you could meet a hummingbird - a braver one will face off with you, challenge the meaning of your presence even drink from a flower as it’s eye