THE PERFECT KISS
I am walking in my house, picking up fragments of our lives
an arm here, an ear there.
He comes at me like a football player,
but then slows down at the last second like a humming bird
and places the most gentle kiss atop my kneecap, over my jeaned leg.
He holds my leg in place with each little hand purposely placed to hold me in place.
And it's perfection.
Without instruction, without request, without question
and for me in that moment every thing is altered, my worries,
my focus shifts,
transcends the minutia of the day
and I am reminded by this 2-year-old of Love, the essence of who we are
stripped of limbs, eyelashes, bone marrow
and other necessities we think we might need.
I aspire to kiss so freely.
KING RILEY
I wonder what happened to
the blanket your dad lay
over you like his body, but feathered
and winged, while the man in the uniform held you
in his anonymous arms and walked out
our front door. It used to keep
me warm while I sat in the black
chair in front of the television, watching
other people’s lives.
I’ve been waiting for the blanket to come back, for you to cover me
with its baby blue skin and say those regal words
you learned in kindergarten and said so proudly, “For you, my fine lady.”
I imagine you wearing it now, over your shoulders like a cloak,
a crown of six stars upon your head like a halo,
your two front teeth sticking out
like golden trophies you won in a contest.
Death becomes you, my King Riley! I hail you,
my mighty ruler of the afterlife.
Today I stumbled
upon an unfamiliar photo,
common people,
a boy with his mother, mouths turned up,
his ash blond hair without a crown.
I stood staring at the relic until I remembered the faraway people.
THE NEGLECTED VOW
On the way to a friend’s wedding reception,
my husband says, “I think our wedding could
have been a little more serious.”
I was thinking the same thing
during their ceremony as I listened to the
traditional vows, in sickness and health
and in good times and bad,
the bride and groom’s 40-something-year-old
faces heavy with the weight
of time it took them to find each other.
We, just barely 30 when we wed,
laughed our way through
the ceremony, like teenagers
at a prom.
The judge, not rabbi,
relayed stories we told him
about our relationship,
like nachos that were eaten
with a fork and knife
and how to get the last
Tic-Tac out of the container
without slamming it on
the nearest hard surface.
Our vows consisted of promises
such as sleeping by each other’s side
and laughing together.
We offered ourselves to each other lightly
like happy hour hors d’oeuvres.
I think about the vows
we would make today
and wonder if a dead child
would reside in the clause
until death do we part.
RILEY DIED AGAIN YESTERDAY
We ordered food from an old place
we used to get delivery,
before.
The doorbell rings and there she is,
glowing and smiling like the sun.
"How are your two boys?" she asks.
Desmond is standing to my right, close,
his resemblance to his brother striking
like if you squint it could be him.
My hand is on his head as I say,
"I have some bad news
Riley died."
She goes dark, like a cloud passing over.
She looks at me with her hand over
her mouth and starts to sob.
She says, "I am so sorry,"over and over again.
I hug her, comfort her,
tell her it's okay,
tell her he was a beautiful boy,
tell her how much we miss him,
my arm wet with her tears.
She tells me she saw our address on the order.
How excited she was to come see him.
How he used to come to her, hug her, and
tell her all about Spider-Man.
How she can still see him running around our house.
"I've had my own stuff," she says.
"My cancer came back. It almost got me."
I picture the last time they
saw each other,
Death's finger pointing,
Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe.
HOME
You are further down the tunnel
narrowing as you ascend.
Blurring around the edges,
your essence tests the open space
of your new home
without walls
or doorways
or steps to trip on
you gracefully float free.
No longer confined by blood vessels,
motor skills, and the optical sense
you race like a cheetah
through the jungle.
You are faster
and freer
than you ever imagined.
You are home.
I am walking in my house, picking up fragments of our lives
an arm here, an ear there.
He comes at me like a football player,
but then slows down at the last second like a humming bird
and places the most gentle kiss atop my kneecap, over my jeaned leg.
He holds my leg in place with each little hand purposely placed to hold me in place.
And it's perfection.
Without instruction, without request, without question
and for me in that moment every thing is altered, my worries,
my focus shifts,
transcends the minutia of the day
and I am reminded by this 2-year-old of Love, the essence of who we are
stripped of limbs, eyelashes, bone marrow
and other necessities we think we might need.
I aspire to kiss so freely.
KING RILEY
I wonder what happened to
the blanket your dad lay
over you like his body, but feathered
and winged, while the man in the uniform held you
in his anonymous arms and walked out
our front door. It used to keep
me warm while I sat in the black
chair in front of the television, watching
other people’s lives.
I’ve been waiting for the blanket to come back, for you to cover me
with its baby blue skin and say those regal words
you learned in kindergarten and said so proudly, “For you, my fine lady.”
I imagine you wearing it now, over your shoulders like a cloak,
a crown of six stars upon your head like a halo,
your two front teeth sticking out
like golden trophies you won in a contest.
Death becomes you, my King Riley! I hail you,
my mighty ruler of the afterlife.
Today I stumbled
upon an unfamiliar photo,
common people,
a boy with his mother, mouths turned up,
his ash blond hair without a crown.
I stood staring at the relic until I remembered the faraway people.
THE NEGLECTED VOW
On the way to a friend’s wedding reception,
my husband says, “I think our wedding could
have been a little more serious.”
I was thinking the same thing
during their ceremony as I listened to the
traditional vows, in sickness and health
and in good times and bad,
the bride and groom’s 40-something-year-old
faces heavy with the weight
of time it took them to find each other.
We, just barely 30 when we wed,
laughed our way through
the ceremony, like teenagers
at a prom.
The judge, not rabbi,
relayed stories we told him
about our relationship,
like nachos that were eaten
with a fork and knife
and how to get the last
Tic-Tac out of the container
without slamming it on
the nearest hard surface.
Our vows consisted of promises
such as sleeping by each other’s side
and laughing together.
We offered ourselves to each other lightly
like happy hour hors d’oeuvres.
I think about the vows
we would make today
and wonder if a dead child
would reside in the clause
until death do we part.
RILEY DIED AGAIN YESTERDAY
We ordered food from an old place
we used to get delivery,
before.
The doorbell rings and there she is,
glowing and smiling like the sun.
"How are your two boys?" she asks.
Desmond is standing to my right, close,
his resemblance to his brother striking
like if you squint it could be him.
My hand is on his head as I say,
"I have some bad news
Riley died."
She goes dark, like a cloud passing over.
She looks at me with her hand over
her mouth and starts to sob.
She says, "I am so sorry,"over and over again.
I hug her, comfort her,
tell her it's okay,
tell her he was a beautiful boy,
tell her how much we miss him,
my arm wet with her tears.
She tells me she saw our address on the order.
How excited she was to come see him.
How he used to come to her, hug her, and
tell her all about Spider-Man.
How she can still see him running around our house.
"I've had my own stuff," she says.
"My cancer came back. It almost got me."
I picture the last time they
saw each other,
Death's finger pointing,
Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe.
HOME
You are further down the tunnel
narrowing as you ascend.
Blurring around the edges,
your essence tests the open space
of your new home
without walls
or doorways
or steps to trip on
you gracefully float free.
No longer confined by blood vessels,
motor skills, and the optical sense
you race like a cheetah
through the jungle.
You are faster
and freer
than you ever imagined.
You are home.
