Lost generation has become generation of loss

We have come to miss the grace
of breathless descriptions and treasure new car parts
and well cleaned dishes.
The generation of loss has failed to place importance
on crying embraces and clean shaven faces,
on middle numbers- the mean bears no shame,
the average no heartbreak.
Generation of loss, I beg that you understand

That being one in a billion is an accomplishment.
I beg that you let race day jitters and numbers on the scale
fall aside, and appreciate, not for success but for existence.
I implore- recognize the beauty of the first sunny day
as well as the day of bleak wind and mist,
unremarkable temperatures,
days which we scant remember- please, love them.
I beg- enjoy lingering piano notes,

the warmth of a shower after torrential rain,
the way nothing compares to falling asleep
as quickly as you wake up,
Do you, generation of loss, believe you will be remembered
for the years of work you put into doctoral degrees and school papers?
Strive, if you must, to be recalled by intimate friends
for the unremarkable mole on the side of your pinky finger,
your crooked teeth,
laugh lines and the face you make
when you’re deepest in thought.
Give love to the nuances of sarcasm in your neighbor’s voice,

the trumpet solo in your favorite song,

the backseat of your first car,
the patient waiting for an answer to a knock on the door.