The Return
I have heard it said
that death gives one
return, just
one.
-
The dead
come back
for a moment or two,
often only minutes
after leaving
as if they’d
forgotten something
then forgotten that
thought, too—
-
see, they won’t take
anything, leave
anything, say
anything; their hands
too slippery,
their mouths
too tight.
-
Sometimes
I like to think
I’ll take a sight
back with me, like
my mother
who turned backwards
in the moving van
to look (last time!)
at the tiles of our
ugly front porch
-
where I’d cleaned
up the remnants
of a half-eaten bird
(just for her!)
that spring,
where I’d scrubbed
blushing water,
where I’d (laughing!)
watched
the cat’s eyes
glitter, marvel.
