When friends are busy on the phone
making funeral arrangements,
I quietly move their kitchen table
the TV, dresser, and chairs.
Vacuuming is too noisy,
so I sweep sweep sweep
fervently sweep
religiously sweep
move it all
clean it all
arrange it all.

After a friend died, his family had already
taken care of his house before I arrived,
leaving me with nothing to do. Feeling that need,
I planted the flowers he usually planted in the spring,
and the neighbors came by wondering why I was planting flowers
at a dead man's house that no one would water
after I left. But they said nothing.

Go home and arrange books.
Read the books for survivors of suicide
searching for the words
that say it's not your fault.
Read the books on grieving
looking for tales of similar anguish.
Read the books about losing a parent
hunting for the story about your mother.
Read the books on healing
wondering if it's ever possible.

Rearrange the photo albums.
Change the address books.
Arrange the memories to ease the loss.

So damn many arrangements.



Opening The Door

In the middle of the night, I wake, certain
Yak’s barking, waiting to be let inside.

After my mother died, I felt a sense of peace,
relieved she was no longer suffering.

But then, as time passed, I believed she’d
return healed and ready to carry on with life.

In the middle of the night, I open the door
and Mom’s back at the kitchen table

while Yak’s racing out the door
chasing the UPS truck.

No longer am I waiting for them to return.



Beneath The Surface

After a couple of beers, the murky pond looks inviting
and my friend decides she’s ready for her first swimming lesson.
I push her on the raft near the dock and she’s surprised
how good the water feels, how easy everything is in the water.

Tell her she can try floating on her back when we’re able
to touch bottom but my words aren’t heard correctly
and she slips off the raft prematurely, eager to swim.
I’m a strong swimmer but she’s a strong athlete

and hangs onto me like my daughter did when she was a baby:
arms and legs tightly wrapped around my body.
My head keeps going under to keep her afloat
and I know there’s a raft floating behind us

and a dock within two feet ahead of us but my arms
and legs can’t move and she screams and screams
hoping the friend in the pond will kick the raft closer
but he just lies on his raft laughing

while the others drink beer on shore
and I think about how my eleven-year-old daughter
will never forgive me if I drown in this pond
how she’ll watch movies the same way I watch “Terms of Endearment”

and relive my mother’s death over and over on purpose, just to suffer
and how I’ll never forgive myself if my friend drowns
and I have no idea what’s going through her head
as she holds me beneath the water certain she’ll drown

while we’re surrounded by friends who seem not to notice
until someone sees my eyes as I come up for air
and recognizes we’re in trouble. He dives in and
just like that we’re free to learn from our mistakes,

to appreciate life once more, to witness the fragility of our vulnerability.