It’s like when the ice floe
moves through the river bed
ripping out any ice
winter has set, until
the whole channel is
roil and rush and wild
upheaval. I remember
what that was like
after he died—
when hours, days,
whole months, were
stripped of all skin
and all that was left
was the naked, beating heart.
I thought that was what it meant
to be stripped, but then,
I remember the first time
I knew for sure if I could have
my boy back, I wouldn’t.
Not if the world stayed the same.
It was a useless bargain,
anyway. But I knew
it was selfish to wish
him back to this world
to ease my own pain.
That was the moment
my whole emptied being
understood there was
more to lose. And I don’t know
if we could say that I chose it
or that life chose it for me.
I was standing in the drive
beneath the evergreen tree.
Everything changed then
when even my useless desire
to bargain with death
was stripped from me.
Today as the ice floe
tears through the canyon,
I listen as it alters
the landscape. Trunks of trees
bash against the rocks.
The rocks themselves tumble
in cold, thick waves.
Nothing to be done,
save surrender to the tumult.
Inside me, my heart beats, untamed.
Yes, I think. That is
exactly what it was like.