A platter of sugar pecans, a red tin of divinity,
a ham, a bag of sandwiches, two hams—
friends to house-sit, baby-sit, pick up
milk from the store,
prepare the lunch for forty.
Miraculous spray of red roses,
an easel of swaying pinks,
baskets of plants found on a holiday,
those we love traveling far to stand beside us—

We living love the tangible
since form lets us know we’re alive.
Cards count—I never knew it before—
handwritten lines under the print
draw out the poison of loss, ease me
up briefly through your moment spent
imagining my world, willing to remember
or fear your own changing worlds
as you brave something to say.
The courage required to speak to me now
is the ferocity death demands from the living;
no one knows what to offer into this chasm—

My life changed while caressing her head,
timing her breaths until none—
what you do shows it matters, your life also altered
by what happened here, in physical
gestures that change almost everything.