Where to Find Love

In shoelaces, alabaster white now trek-dusted brown,

freshly washed bright, quietly relaced without a frown

In a fourteen-layer chocolate cake baked by two nonagenarians

to celebrate the first visit of a fourth generation

In the teardrop-shaped earlobe gently grasped by a six-year old

in the backseat hold of a makeshift ambulance

In a nerve-crumpled scorebook where a left-hander

scribbled buckets on typewritten rosters forty years ago

In a single Lindor chocolate, wrapped in red foil,

carefully dropped on the keyboard while she lay coiled

In the release and runoff of a lifetime of memories

Unleashed by a doctor’s use of the word malignancy