I want to write you a poem
about how life changes
it’s dark outside before 9
It’s August
the great Sunday of the year for teachers
I want to write you a poem
so you understand what’s coming –
everyone is starting something new here
college, high school, middle school
Do you know about being left?
for minecraft
for something new
for something different
What do you know about being left?
I want to write you a poem
about Sundays
and still being here while life gets ready to change
In the pause of August-Sunday
my dog snores next to me, his head on my knee
we are in our favorite corner of the red couch
in the dark, with the sounds of laundry and bedtime
On a Thought 
Thank you for writing us a poem. It’s tender, sincere, and just plain beautiful. DO we know about being left. Sigh. Yes. And that line about the August-Sunday pause. You’ve phrased it so well. It reminds me of the prologue to Natalie Babbitt’s Tuck Everlasting, where she compares that first week of August (“motionless and hot”) to that moment in the Ferris wheel’s turning where it pauses at the very top before its descent…
The line “What do you know about being left?” is haunting. So beautiful. I love the sensory imagery of your final two lines: “we are in our favorite corner of the red couch
in the dark, with the sounds of laundry and bedtime.”