Please enjoy these two poems by Jason Baker that examine loss through the poignant imagery of everyday objects that carry so much more than meets the eye.
—The Editors
Nail Polish
Between her forefinger and thumb
my grandmother holds a needle threader—
a loop of wire on a tin coin
stamped with a lady’s cameo
so thin it must be valuable, the way
a dime is worth more than a nickel
She’d smudge her things with nail polish
to identify them as her own. What do you
call that color? Salmon? Dusty rose?
The cameo wears rose blush, scissors
with a dab of salmon above the hinge—
this when a pair of scissors was priceless
In her purse, in her jackets and pockets
she kept peppermints to cover the smell
My mother asked her not to smoke
around me and somehow I didn’t know—
even when I caught her crouching in the carport
beside the birdseed, one hand hidden
behind her back. She hauled grandeur
or maybe luster like an old suitcase on a leash
Sitting
When death came to paint my mom’s picture
she didn’t change her clothes or put on makeup
but she did pose—
feet on the coffee table crossed at the ankles
face turned slightly to the left
She closed her eyes and thought of a road
winding past trees
Somewhere was a river that like love
went on and on— 
Jason Baker's poems have appeared in Everyman's Library, New York Quarterly, No Dear, Poet Lore, and elsewhere.
Both so simple and pure
Absolutely gorgeous, "Sitting" especially. So hauntingly, truthfully spare - so dense and resonant, reconciled and adoring.