I gasp for air amid the flood of tears
Rabid breaths that show no foam . . .
This is our home! This is OUR stuff!
Sobs well up inside me
So deeply
I vomit them out,
Retching, wailing
Sucks of air
That exhaust my body
And drain my soul.
Finally,
I cry silently,
Mouth wide open
Unable to breathe,
Until finally
It
Stops.
We bag her up slowly.
I loving pull clothing out of drawers
Sweaters she cherished
T-shirts so clever
She had to beam
Every time she pulled them
Over her ample breasts,
Others that mark
Everyplace we’ve ever been
(and every size she ever was!)
some of them so precious
so painted with memories
of her, of us,
I put them back in the drawers
Priceless art to me,
Soft, secret, silent
Souvenirs of a sweetheart.
And the twenty-year-old
Skinny frail little
Tiger cat Abby
Who spent every evening
For twenty years
Curled above her head
On the back of the couch;
Who watched
I don’t know
How many
Episodes of
Wheel of Fortune
And
How many
Matches of
Jeopardy;
Who never had
Even one chance
To answer a
Single question;
Yowls and yowls and yowls
Mournfully, incessantly
All day long
And into the night
And early every morning
Crying for a lost love
On which to rest her
Weary bones.
And I . .
I watch her carried out
In bags and boxes
Hauled out
Luggled out
By loving, well meaning
Caring, grieving
Family and intimate friends
I watch as her
Favorite soaps
Lotions
Makeup
Brushes
Are so much junk, now;
How her keepsakes
Are tossed in
(can’t keep everything,
for pity’s sake)
her hats
that kept her
chemo-bald head
warm in the
only winter
she had left;
and the fishing
hats she wore
the last summer
our last summer
the one we didn’t know
would be the last.
We looked at pictures
We looked at cards and
Old letters
We looked at
A life
Torn out of
Its home
Like a turtle
Ripped from the shell
And what do you
Have then?!
Only so much dead meat to
Burn
Into
Dust.
Which is in a beautiful
Too expensive blue cloisonné’ urn
Set loving amid
Family photos
And a picture of
Jesus.
Lively 2010
