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e will finally know the difference between ghost ants, odorous ants, and crazy ants,

understanding what perfect poison to lay out to kill specific household pests. We will

kill other insects with our fingers or feet. We will save spiders, sometimes moths.

We will encourage ourselves to return the pants that do not fit, the ankle weights we will never

use, the cat food that the cat stopped eating months ago. We will decide in favor of languor. 

We will not rush to canoe practice when the water is below forty degrees.

We will not be there when the wind blows and the canoe flips and we dangle upside down

trapped by a zipper. We will appreciate being saved, and learn. We will realize we will 

never be fluent in Italian. After four years, we hold verbs in our palms, the presente, 

imperfetto, passato prossimo, futuro, and odd tidbits of other tenses we will never

use. We will learn useful sentences about food, hotels, and train schedules.

We will keep trying but also acknowledge that the world will end in fire and ice. We will

miss the animals that go extinct and the canopies that burn during summer and the brilliant

waters that run dry. We will attempt to staunch the disappearance of beauty but will fail.

We will decide to be okay with the fact there are no grandchildren. We will understand that

after the dogs die, there will be no more pets. We will know that when this marriage fails,

there will be no more marriages. We will accept the fact that our mothers will die, our

sisters will no longer speak to us, and our children will move to lands we cannot touch.

We will grow old in this house for as long as this house holds us without breaking our bones.

We will remember all that we did for as long as we can remember. We will accept that all 

that came before this moment is all that there is. We will let go. We will not cry. Watch us.