Last Sunday Dinner

I made fish tacos, a favorite,
and I only cried three times today.
how many hundreds of Sunday dinners
did we share, first just the two of us, my son and I,
when we pretended it was a shared cooking task,
then we were three, then four, now back
to two of us on Sundays, unless you
count the little black puppy as one.
this is the time of good-byes,
a neighbor, a friend, my son, all
saying good-bye for now, until later,
the painful practice of the many good-byes
that hang in the future, if only practice made
them any easier.