Loss is by April Salzano
not the contact paper on broken walls,
the hammock no one used, the black strap
that didn’t seem able to stop the badness.
At forty, I finally understand—loss is not
not having enough, not having failed
at most of what was attempted or intended.
Loss is having had everything for one petrifying
moment, and watching it slip through a crack
in a long-neglected wall.
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About the author:
Recently nominated for two Pushcart prizes, April Salzano teaches college writing in Pennsylvania where she lives with her husband and two sons. She is currently working on a memoir on raising a child with autism and several collections of poetry. Her work has appeared in journals such as Convergence, Ascent Aspirations, The Camel Saloon, Centrifugal Eye, Deadsnakes, Visceral Uterus, Salome, Poetry Quarterly, Writing Tomorrow and Rattle. The author also serves as co-editor at Kind of a Hurricane Press http://www.kindofahurricanepress.com
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Vending Machine Press 
That’s a powerful poem. I like that idea that when one gets a glimpse of everything and then it disappears that, that facilitates the experience of loss.
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