for Cathy Ahlers
Beloved void. First sound of first
stars flung into darkness. You died,
and there were eight loads of laundry.
A brown mouse poked her head
from beneath a white curtain. A con-
tractor waved through the kitchen
window, then pulled up the rotten
deck. The world looked like nothing
had changed, but really energy was
changing form like crazy. Water boiled
on the stove, evaporated, and rose to
the ceiling where it condensed and hung
in oily drops. Leftovers congealed
in the fridge. Compost sprouted white
spore-filled fluff and we placed your body
into a sealed box into which matter
could neither enter, nor escape. In time,
you changed too, flickered from state
to state until, finally, you flipped through
the entire book of forms and reappeared
as you were in your moments on earth.
We set the snap traps, smoothed the
Linen, folded to the floor. Couldn’t shake
the feeling you were still around, because
there you were. Perfect. Light. Still
with us billions of years after your fact.
Elizabeth Bachinsky is the author of six books of poetry, including Home of Sudden Service, which was nominated for a Governor General’s Award, and God of Missed Connections, which was nominated for the Pat Lowther Memorial Award, the KOBZAR Book Award, and the George Ryga Award for Social Awareness in Literature. She lives and works on the traditional, unceded territories of the Qayqayt, Kwikwetlem, Kwantlen and Musqueam First Nations where she teaches creative writing at Douglas College. Her most recent collection, Real Grownup, is forthcoming with Nightwood Editions in spring 2026.
