Niobe had just lost her son.
To help herself, she read a poem
to those assembled in the funeral home
Opened to liverwurst,
Headcheese, a list of loaves:
Luncheon and Luxury
the bossiest boyfriend I have ever entertained,
crammed between my knees, purring himself into glory
Grounded by a sailing injury, Arthur still finds solace in the Irish Sea.
My sleep is punctuated with terror
and excursions into weirdness,
and I usually wake in the dark hours
The old man finally just went away
to live in the mountains. Two goats,
a dog for company. The wind
made a harp of the pines.