(for Georgann)

You took me the first time
where we chuckled at the array
of clever gift items—
an only-in-Seattle thing—

and, since shopping was one
of our happiest outings (often
falling into the just looking sphere),
I cannot go through Sea-Tac

without stopping at Fireworks,
imagining what I’d buy to
surprise you. But this time, a few
bagged purchases in hand,

at baggage claim, late to pick up
my bags, in haste to make
my way to the ferry that once
took me to you, I left the

little bag behind. Realizing
my lapse only after whooshed
away by light rail, I sighed,
knowing you’d understand,

because, of course, you do—
you who are no longer you,
who no longer care about
gifts of the material kind.

A good ten days later, after
I returned home, a surprise
email: We are holding
an item from your recent

trip that we believe may
belong to you. And I thought,
You companion spirits do
work in mysterious ways,

as I filled out the return form
for some kind-hearted souls
at an airline baggage service
who wanted to reunite us.

Fireworks arrived today,
flown by Fed Ex, not Alaska,
plopped on my porch
in a sturdy brown box,

which I opened, slightly
stunned—even as I beheld
what had been lost—
that these whimsical,

misplaced gifts could
find me. But then again,
you always do,
don’t you?