Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Two Years Ago

Two years and three quarters of  a day ago today
the world was seven-hundred and thirty revolutions unwound
and had seen four fewer transits each
of aphelion and perihelion.

Two years and one half of a day ago today
I was a young man
with a reasonably new
house, job, degree,
a very pregnant wife,
a nearly-two son,
a brother and family in Carolina,
and in Tucson,
a mother,
and a father,
sleeping soundly in bed.

Two years and one quarter of a day ago today
the September sky was beginning to wake,
almost to wingshooting light,
and the still morning was tangled
by phone calls and knocks on the door
and a hasty breakfast,
which made no dent in the
sick hollow of my stomach
(and my wife could not eat).

Two years ago today
we were gathered around
my mother, a widow,
fielding phone calls and questions
because somehow the news had not
been telegraphed around the world
that my father was dead, so we had to
and explain,
and (worst) explain carefully
to a nearly-two-year-old
that Grandpa was with Jesus.

Two years less a half a day ago today
we were going to bed
in the house I grew up in
(that my father built)
and were variously processing
the whiplash of a sudden death,
dropped down from heaven,
an unexpected anvil,
two years ago today.

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