You died on a Monday evening.
The Weather Channel says it was raining and windy
but I don’t remember that.
What I do remember is
the phone call in the wee hours of the morning.
The three-hour drive to the airport.
The Delta employees being too kind too helpful,
(there must be a secret code on one’s ticket for
“Her mom is dying.”)
The long wait for the rental car, the longer wait for luggage.
The traffic at rush hour, the helicopter, the rubberneckers.
The plea to god to let me arrive in time.
The dad on the porch crying.
The clock frozen at 6:21.
The dead body in your bed.
The stillness of the room, the energy gone.
(Where does it go?)
The lock of hair I snipped from your head.
The whispered good-bye.
The dog standing in the driveway.
“The Tears” by Christy Anna Jones, via Melancholy Hyperbole.
“Are You Alright” by Lucinda Williams