the barista asked

"How was your weekend?"


                        I spent it running away from

                        Memories of my dead husband      (why not?

                                                                   he called me wife to any who'd listen)

Instead I say, "Triple short mocha."


I watch a bus go by

Full of people                                       he was on the bed naked

And I wonder if

They realize death

Is breathing down

Their necks                                           a tube was taped to his mouth

                                                            and the tape had slipped onto his teeth

I cleaned goodwill

Out of candle holders

For the memorial

The only requirement

Was not one could be

Alike                                                   even though they pumped his chest

                                                           i knew he was gone, his face was purple

We'll be sitting                                     and his eyes stared straight

On blankets                                         at the ceiling

And when I read                                  

The eulogy

I will ask everyone                               

To stop telling me

They're sorry                                       the doctor treating him has been fired

And ask them

To sit around the fire pit

And eat


And tell their                                        this morning while walking to the bus

Kevin stories                                       i saw a carefully stacked column of

                                                           rocks in a window display

                                                           i wanted to kick at it until they toppled over