His cat mourned better than I, lying
on her side for weeks across his room’s threshold
Some evenings, he would hide his face in his hands
for a few seconds —
I’m the last sister standing — but tonight I mean to lie down, to practice being in the box
What I’m learning about grief is that
it comes and goes, like the shadow in front of me
on the afternoon sidewalk.
as if death had lit a pale light
in your flesh, your flesh
was cold to my touch, or not cold
but cool, cooling
I was sure that I had failed my mother, unable to keep her in her home, as I had once promised.
I was free, I was twenty. I fell wholly &
forever in love every week. I was hungry for life
Look at me, writing circles around what I must face:
The man I love is dead.
For he was so curious about the shapes & pressures
of our American lives, he made each friend
feel like the genius-author of a great story.
ate only bites but
always well: warm boysenberry pie,
bone broth matzoh ball soup