Lament

This full-throated day

amplifies everything I’ve known,

memory swallowed and spoken

like an oath on the occasion

of all truth-telling.



I resolve to gaze directly into the eyes of sorrow,

touch the gravelly places in my chest

with the words that soothe and steady me

on the simple sand near the sea.



Look at the package as you unwrap the gifts.

The flannel shirt

and the scarf, plaid and soft synthetic,

worn next to the warmth

of a tender neck.



This treasure is meant to be gathered

to my face and inhaled.

Small particles of love,

solemn and steadfast as any hand

pledging allegiance,

hover around my heart.



I open my mouth to speak,

expecting vibrato; a lament.

Instead, the sound of needles rattling

at the end of cold branches,

unlikely clicks of rain against the window,

and the death rattle of tall prairie grasses

tumble from my lips

like the last breath from the body.