grieving

it's the most difficult in the morning
the moment pulled taut between sleep and wakefulness
that you almost feel him next to you
instead, worn pillows and creviced mattresses

no one to set the cereal bowl out for
decades old yellowed plastic and instant coffee

how to be one
the painful freedom of being able to do--anything
hanging laundry out in 30 degree weather
as if washing and washing clears away the need to think

getting the mail more than a chore
sympathy cards and junk mail to be returned, deceased

when you're out shopping
"he never liked staying out this long"
exploring the simple joys you haven't been afforded lately
it's beautiful
to see you smile when you try on that horrid plaid jacket
you look beautiful
finding something new to do all over again

the unobtained glories of the four minute mile

dear mr. santee,
tell me,
what does half a second feel like?
like the breeze,
or less?
like the snap of the ground
giving way
under your feet
does it have that bitter taste,
that comes from being
not quite good enough?
wes,
(if i can call you that)
i think you're doing just fine,
as find as dead can be.

classroom thoughts

oh, economists!
soothsayers of the world,
this day is irretrievable

the squiggles on the stocks pages
predict
tomorrow will come

and the type
scattered on the decaying pulp of trees
reports yesterday has gone

what is today, then
historians and theologians
what is to be done?