.................................
Loose Ends
.................................

Blue bordered labels on white cardboard
boxes in the closet under sleeping winter
wraps - she is neatly packing her memories.

Photos of the first picnic in her first
backyard, the checkered cloth
under a bottle of Chablis
full of bachelor buttons, the blossoms long
pressed in a copy of Browning's sonnets.

Ribbons tied in rubber bands from 4-H fairs,
report cards, pictures made with crayons
and painted fingerprints, a ceramic something
that Matthew made, carefully cradled next
to other special memories.

She wanted to tie up loose ends.
Put the puzzle in its box. She was going to die.
The doctor handled it well - handed her the lab report
without a word. Medical version of a pink slip.
Severance pay by Prudential.

More phone calls: Aunt Ruth in West Palm Beach.
Cancel the get-away planned for when the men go fishing.
Not sure how to tell her. She was never good
with bad news. Another:
stop subscriptions to magazines
that always end up in the recycling bin.
How many trees is she being held accountable for?

She wouldn't call her parents.
Not tonight. Tomorrow, sometime soon.
They would want to come hold as if
touching would make it go away.
And Max, sweet Max. Always strong,
taking the boys to the shopping mall -
leaving his love with her.

Tonight a movie. Maybe a Woody Allen.
Something terribly, distractingly funny.
She always thought he was a funny man.
She remembered reading something he said,
"It's not that I'm afraid to die. I just don't want
to be there when it happens."

.................................
Jerry Dreesen
.................................

 
Copyright © Jerry Dreesen
June 1996

...a poem in this room by Eric Thomas...
the small moments of your face hover
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