Ever Was

​

Joe is disappearing
Even the word in my mouth
Joe
Is sometimes unfamiliar
As if part of me is capable
Of forgetting
My mind searches for his name
Like my hand reaches out for him in bed

As he fades from my days
From my eyes
I grow more comfortable
With the part of him
That is not really Joe
That is not really dead
That has somehow become
Closer to me than his body
Ever was

No Words

​

Dreams 
But not really
More like endless talking, all night
Like a child talking to herself
In the back seat
Making up endless conversation
That sounds like people taking
The inflection and tone
Meaning more than the words 

I remember the confusion
Newly in Italy at 14
Learning Latin and Italian at the same time
A more total immersion is hard to imagine
It was like starting school on another planet
Rosa Rosa Rosam Rosae Rosae Rosa
I didn't understand anything
But I kept repeating the words
And copying things by hand
Words with no meaning

And now, Joe has died
And I'm not dreaming at night
Not like I used to, anyway
I am filled with gratitude and pain
Filled all the way up
Complete in a way I wouldn't have thought possible
In a way that I can't possibly explain
All the meaning without the words

I'll Fly Away

​

In my dreams lately
I am traveling
Nothing scary
No force or pressure
Just traveling
Suitcase sometimes misplaced
But even then, I think
Maybe it will turn up
And it usually does

There are people from my childhood
Ones I haven’t seen in years
Joe is there sometimes
But in my encounters
Not traveling with me
I travel alone

Occasionally I find myself in negotiations
And although these seem to be rather complex
The outcome is my leaving
Calmly, lungs full of air
I am able to walk away
Without fear or worry

But in the morning
Waking up to my tasks
With a warm and agreeable smile
I am weary
And I long for freedom

The freedom of the widow
The freedom of the orphan
The freedom of the mother who has weaned her pups
The freedom of having nothing left to lose
I think I might be so unburdened
That I could fly

What Are The Chances?

​

In my dreams last night
I was late for work
A passenger in my coworker's car
We were running late
And new to the area
He almost took the wrong ramp
"No! That one!" I said, as I pointed to the left
He swerved just in time to change lanes
Before the ramp split into two yawning arcs

But we were going too fast
He couldn't hold the curve
And we flew over the edge
Falling some 800 feet
(This number was verified in my dream,
By whom, I don't know)
And landing on all four tires, still driveable.
I thought, "What are the chances?"

And later, at work, as a nurse
I dropped a baby, my baby
And watched in terror
As she fell several stories
Landing without injury
Placed safely back in my arms

And now, awake
Joe calls from Houston
He can't drive back today
He needs another transfusion
His third in three weeks
As I get ready for my writer's group
And plan tomorrow night's dinner
Telling myself that everything
Will be okay.

Refractions

​

I keep imagining an earthquake
As I sit here at MD Anderson
This cubbyhole treatment room
Would collapse and crumble
Crushing us instantly
As I imagine these things I feel nothing
And somehow that seems right

I think, “that’s ridiculous,
There are no earthquakes in Houston"
And try instead to picture a hurricane
Drowning us in this cramped space
But the image feels fake, forced

The earthquake is real
The earthquake is happening
Not the tremors of foreshadowing
(I have those sea-legs)
But the violent shaking
The breaking apart
The crushing finality
The only end that will tell the truth
Changing the landscape forever.

What I Learned In Mexico

​

It's the third of five days  
In Mexico with  
Women I mostly don't know  

We have fresh guacamole  
And hand-shaken margaritas  
Served in small, salty glasses  

They're all pleasant, smiling  
Telling stories about their exes  
And their dead husbands  

Beneath the small talk and light drinking  
Is my hollow disinterest, and  
I wonder at my sense of not-belonging  

I wonder if the future me  
Fifteen years from now  
Is one of these women    

And I start to loosen up
Wanting suddenly  
To know more.

Worry

​

I have traded-in silence
For audio books
Procedural crime novels, in fact
I admit I'm filling the time
Which rhymes with killing the time
Also true
​I'm even ironing the dish towels
Which I told a friend about, laughing at myself
He said, "It's come to that, has it?"
And it has

This waiting is hard
Holding my breath
Worrying, frozen
Like spent orchids I refuse to throw out
Nothing lost but the blooms that might have been
During this period of neglect.

Breakable

​

These days, it seems like I'm living in a very small way
As if I'm small and quiet
Living in a jar with a loose lid
Protecting me
Keeping out all those things
I can't bear

All I have with me
Are the old favorites
That I know by heart
That are easy to be with
Nothing is getting in
Nothing new

I'm being careful with myself
Like an invalid
Who can’t be fed rich foods
Or a baby who mustn’t be given
Breakable toys

Everything seems to fall to pieces
The essential shape of things, breaking down
In my hands
My mouth
My mind

Details become metaphor
Metaphor become vapor
Clouds of old ideas and truths
Keeping the climate cool
In this protective small space.

Coming Up For Air

​

Still under water,
I become aware
Of a break in the storm
The sun shines bright above me
Bright enough to hurt my eyes

I hear smiling voices nearby, and
Can almost feel the promise of relief
I know it's safe to take a breath

But in a frozen moment of choice
The next violent rhythmless wave crashes in.

The Gorge

​

In my dreams last night
We were together
Visiting some beautiful mountain place
A wide river lay before us
We stood, floating on a large wooden dock
It felt nice, like our life feels

And then it began to rain
Softly at first, then harder
The river grew in swells
And the dock began to ripple and sway
Like great solid wood waves, bending impossibly
Flowing, breaking apart
And we were separated

I watched him, confused
I felt the first tiny spark of fear
Deep inside
Watching as his piece of the dock moved backwards
Against the current
Away from me
While the roiling dock beneath my feet
Was carried downstream, with the current
He stood looking at me, calm and straight
I too stood still
We watched each other fade into the distance

I thought - in the dream
"Oh - this is what it's going to be like"

And then, held onto the railing and looked into
The opening mouth of a gorge far below
Completely open to me, as if to say
"Look! Look down here!
You'll be under all this water
Under the force of the fall, the force of the churn
This is what it will be like."

What Is Happening

​

if I understood why
would that make it easier?
even when it’s so hard
the dishwasher will still break now and then
my brother, the one who’s hard for me
will still call, now and then
friendships will be a burden, sometimes
and other times the only fun in the world
sex. i don’t ever want another lover.
i will keep getting older
i will still be here
days and weeks go by
and things are definitely getting better
your sleep is better, your energy is better
digestion is better
do you remember when you could take those for granted?
do you remember when your worst complaints
were self-inflicted silly hangovers
that came with smiles?

i fought my way up to this great plane
i wanted the love, the joy, the peace
and now this is to be the new starting point?
that was my password, you know
gratefully walking uphill for love
the first letters of each word typed thousands of times
like a prayer wheel
and i got here, i have the love
the love is how i got here

sometimes when joe is laughing
i look closely at him, in his eyes
seeing behind contour of muscle and bone
seeing behind his familiar, happy way
and i see an echo chamber
like a glacier cave
beautiful, and lonely, and cold
what is happening to me?

decisions about where to travel
are no longer a bucket list
it’s about where i can carry this bucket
does knowing make it better?
poignant doesn’t work for everyone
maybe not knowing would make it better

what if we didn’t know
we never knew
and we lived each moment in the moment
like i imagine some animals do
we practice being in the moment
we strive to stay present
but this is what makes us different of course
we can dwell on things
we can anticipate without scent or cue

laying out the morning meds
making breakfast
making tea
we used to eat and drink the same things at breakfast
that’s changed
he used to get the paper paper
but we lost a lot of cash last year
not working
now he uses the ipad
it seems silly to me
he loved the paper
held it in his hands every morning
of the almost three thousand mornings
I have loved him.

When Loss Is Known, Before

​

I told my youngest brother
That when our mother dies
I think I will feel relieved

I don’t remember saying that
And so neither the context
But he says I said it,
It's bothered him for years.

My relationship with my mother
Travels and laughs and shares
(We know, even cherish, each other)
But it is anchored forever
In my childhood

We don’t speak every week
We don’t live in the same city
Or state, or country
A lot of distance and time are required
To spread the weight
Of our shared trauma

So when I imagine having lost her
It’s an abstract and false wish
For relief of shared pain
For us both

----------

But when loss is known, before
The loss of your best friend
The better half of your best self
Your actual lover
When that loss is known
There is no imagined relief
No hope for an easier path
It is a new, awkward and lopsided weight
Banging against you with each step

Friends who are all the fun in the world
Are suddenly drones to be humored
The sacred communion of dinner parties
Once filled with laughter
Flickers in and out
Like a slow-motion visitation

Sex that was once a hungry revelation
Is now a hopeful reenactment
Sometimes failed

And almost-grown kids
Who've enjoyed the privilege of selfishness
Now bear an unexpected maturity
Their kindness and patience heartbreaking

This is no abstraction
This is now, and now and now
This is the unthinkable
Coming to me in slow motion
Changing the landscape
Even before it arrives.

Every Night

​

Every night when we get into bed
After our ritual of watching a little tv
Sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch
Leaning on each other a bit
Every night we say good night
Usually he before I
On his side, facing me
His long body curled up like a child
I reach out to touch his head
His soft new growth of bright silver hair
And I think how much I will miss this
This reaching out and finding warmth
Finding him
Sleeping quietly
Sure to wake tomorrow.