Tell God Hi
for me I joke as he lists a kiss
lips and walks out the door on
way to Sunday school.
I stay in bed propped against a
pillow and heating pad. I fell
on the snow slippery driveway
My commune will be the
I find in poems I edit for a
from Wichita. Both my lover and
were raised Catholic. I wonder
my spirituality might be had it
been the same
Movement outside the window draws
my eyes upwards to view a
the neighbor’s roof doing a
ski move around the chimney.
I think of poetry, where it takes
how it soothes and heals,
connects me to humankind, here
I think of turning onto my side
before; the feel of his warm
against my back, legs curved,
That afterglow as natural, as
I met Noah today. He rests along
I’d never been down before.
Two dinosaurs adorn the front of
He was four days old when he
died; these days
he would be nine years old. We
plant a pink
peony, his dad and I. He digs a
large spade of grass.
I hold the plant in place as he
places one shovelful
of moist, damp earth after
another over its bare roots.
I listen to the circumstances of
death where a definition means
more than a word.
Omphaloceles – born with internal
organs on the outside of the body.
The telling and retelling help
mend an exposed heart.
“He was like a comet flashing
across the sky; here, and then just gone.”
I feel as though I’ve watched
Noah grow up, even though he never went home.
The cross stitch his father did
of him squatting in the sand
on a beach shows him at age
three. His blond hair is tousled, blue eyes large,
wide eyed, in wonder of the
beauty of the universe surrounding.
A Chevy truck breaks our silence
as it goes slowly past the
cemetery turn off. Noah’s
younger brother and sister are
inside with their maternal
We wonder aloud what the kids are
if they ask to come to their dad,
what their grandmother replies.
I wonder, silently, if this
family of Noah’s, now separated by death and divorce,
will continue to come to this
site several times yearly for generations.
I hope down the linage, they will
We head west, Noah’s father and
me, where brown earth has rolled onto her back.
Her soft, warm belly, recently
itched and raked by farm machinery,