Letting Go

Last is the hollow left
after the collision
of then and never again.

The cleft that keeps us
fixed on the eye of a dream
and stays today from tomorrow.

Last is the gap you leap
between your mead and God’s,
the parting act

that binds the breach
and leaves the face
of last unmasked.



Click here to read Barbara Reynolds on the origin of the poem.

Image: Sad Eyes by Katrin Albaum, licensed under CC 2.0.

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.

Barbara Reynolds
Latest posts by Barbara Reynolds (see all)


Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.