Today I brought you back into the world of the living.
At the cemetery spigot I cleaned the clay vase with the broken ear,
Felt inside for old leaves, felt the slipperiness of algae.
I placed a dozen roses in this farmhouse pot,
Fanned them out, pale red fading to white like parchment.
I tied three balloons to the remaining ear,
Each straining skyward like souls seeking home.
That’s what broke my heart, those souls leashed to earth.

I remember when you emerged from my womb thirty years ago to the day,
All pink and with red hair, and I thought ‘He’ll have a temper.’
You were cute and a little devil, there was no holding you down.
You floated happily on your sea of friends.
To this day there is in their lives a canyon where you once were.

It is blessedly quiet here, I can hear your voice.
We have talked it over with death,
He is never in a hurry, anymore than the seasons.
For now he is a figure in a slouch hat striding toward us, the sun behind him.
He strides day and night, and the horizon seems closer some days.

As he put it, ‘I wish I could smell the grass and hear the fall of the pine cones,
Even if only on the grave where you stand,
Even if only there.’

July 25th, 2011