You call when I’m reading
(Every article, like I’m in prison,
Something about rifles and cartridges)
Even in second language jokes
You’re the best part of their day
You talk of Abaco and water
Anne and the Mud
I can only say
It washed over.
I wake in the night
And my mother’s up
With a light cane thumping and florescent lighting.
In the early morning I *** outside
Relieved by open space
I pull the arrows
I list groceries
It’s the best part of the day.

The feedback of his hearing aids
The forgotten novel
Solitaire
The lightly fondled newspaper
What’s your mother doing?
Did your Dad go back to bed?
What day is it?
They mostly miss each other
When death idles under the carport
When the starving aren’t hungry
I miss them too
While she was forgetting
And he was dying

I remember when my grandmother died
My father, aunts and uncles around her
A minute in the bedroom
A hug, sudden
Death crisp as a *******
But this, it’s not you
The table you made was there, and here
Refinished
I’m not sure how to clean the pellet stove
I hug your wife
The ballot issues alongside her coffee
“Oh, ****!”.  Just vote yes.
Toasted banana bread
As I stand at the bedroom door
Checking for signs of life

She asks me who your wife is
Who your brother is married too
Who am I
Marriage is a fading order,
My kids don’t know.
After 66 years of her own,
Now my mother doesn’t either.


I stop for fossil fuel
For the long-handled sponge and squeegee
Radio whites talking Jesus between scans
My sister caring, weary, crying
Competency smiling
I lean there
Eat raisined grapes, frog eye salad, boiled egg
You sit bedside in my brace
With alabaster thighs and raspy breath
You want to write checks
You guess to stay in bed
I don’t know what death is
But I want it for you

My hunger is a coated almond
Next to your pill box
Only Monday is empty
You thank me, not knowing about tomorrow
Creases in the carpet, shrinking
You’re the smallest of the nesting dolls
You want an Oregon pill
Not what Tuesday offers
Your disappointment breathes
I wonder about your loving God

I have a birthday card
Still blank
Don’t know if you’ll make it to Friday
Doubt you’ll breathe enough to wake
wake enough to read
What to wish for you
I wish for the end
I scribble deep breaths

We came, somehow all of us converging
They came, and wrapped your body
Wheeled it out the front way
The bed changed, a meal shared
Lives diverge again
For six decades
We had you
To gather around
To go first
I’d like to miss you
But you’re still here…
What day is it?

Cookie crumbs and flower petals
Sympathy cards when death is over
Moments when you miss him so much
His ashes noticed by parcel post
I clean the pellet stove
I rummage in his drawer
For a T-shirt
In your overheated house
Stain of glue
So like mine
Home where you were

I took some nails, washers, some trowels
Rags, wing nuts, his stuff
You think I’m as obvious as lasagna
But I’m more than layers
Today I found the post office
Took the box marked
Cremated remains
She put the canister
Behind the chrysanthemum
Blooming in November
I stretched on the floor
She on the couch
We napped
Had ravioli for dinner