One year ago today 
the whole world pointed at a different north star.
I thought in five year plans and tomorrows
and without fail 
my sentences ended in exclamation.
Your perfect name 
was forever affixed to my plans for you.
Those mountains we'd climb
together
were permanent too
like the paint on your nursery wall.
How shocking
isn't it
that one year can teach us
to see the tilt in the axis, 
the humanity in a whale,
and mountains 
that are no more permanent than you nor I.

​Every grieving mother watches
intently,
sadly,
hopefully,
as the world learns more
of grief
from a whale
than their neighbor.
10 days
10 weeks
10 months
10 years
If I am meant to live ten lifetimes without you,
Little Whale,
Little Fox,
I shall still be found
lifting you up.