tuesday 1 july 02008 2:12pm
walking up hartford

walking up the hill
to the place where i live
i write six lines in my head:
weeping, i wonder
how it is
that we are all so brave
as to get up
again
every day?

an hour ago, the doctor's hand
on my shoulder, the pursed smile of empathy
(my doctor has what i have)
and she says:
you're just riding the wave.
walking up the hill
belly convulses with weeping
presses against the lumps inside
and pain shines through.

near the top of the hill i see him again
on the next corner.
for weeks now i see him
in the bodies of people still living.
this time i wonder why?
why so often lately?
and another part of my mind gives the answer:
it was this week.
how many years ago now? three.
three years.
does his spirit come then
or does some clock inside me know?

top of the hill
inside the house
the peonies i have been watching
unfurl and shine
have begun to fall open
dying on my altar.

how do we get up? how? how does anyone ever
become so brave? and having done so, how is it
that we can ever close our eyes again?