I have reached an age

Where it is not uncommon

For my friend to lose their parent.

Sometimes we sit together for a long time

Before the cancer finally consumes

And sometimes death suddenly descends,

Disrupting, upheaving, chaotic.

I bake bread and leave meals on porches,

Knowing that the phone call I made to say “I love you”

Does nothing to lessen the ache.

But I do these things anyway

Because I know that I have reached an age

Where one day, it will be my parent who is dead

And I will need that meal or that phone call.