Silver Slips In

The neighbor tends to life in his funeral home suit. Ahead full light and ahead of the chorus, he feeds birds in his backyard before going to work. He was a pastor once; I guess he still is. The undertaker must hold and release life almost like a healer.

Perhaps the sickness is passing. Perhaps I can be outside today. Perhaps the overflow can reach you. Perhaps it can reach everyone.

The Thornapple River floods near my parents’ place and Gun Lake is high; it's been high for awhile. They talked about getting the pontoon boat in yesterday only to stall in Robin's Bay. Closer to home, the Grand River takes over roads as it typically does this time of year. Wealthy homeowners are losing their houses to Lake Michigan and as a lake girl and a human, I do feel badly about that. But I don't feel as badly as I do about other losses.

Kora moves from one deck chair to another; I always think of Goldilocks when I watch her try them all out before settling into her buff colored curlicue. She can be there all day now, watching birds and stalking squirrels. Although, a chickadee lands on the back of her chair for a chat, and she is unaware. She's slowing down and getting older like the rest of us. My pill case tells me what day it is.

You know how sometimes when you are reading something and the sun happens to get a little brighter and then everything tingles for a few seconds? Mentally it's like, “hey this must be important or some kind of true north guidance shit.”

Your brother's need is yours.

I'm feeling better. I made the rounds outside just after dawn. The creek isn't working again, so I checked for problems and refilled it. A few tulips are on their way out so I clipped and brought them in for a bouquet of last moments. Some areas of weeding have cropped up but nothing too overwhelming. Violets everywhere this year. The Lily of the Valley has come into full bloom in my absence. Heaven has a scent of these. Transplanted ferns have taken off but there seems to be a different variety mixed in with ostrich ferns. I may have to consolidate and move a few around. Creation ex nihilo.

The furnace stays turned down now at night and coolness creeps into windows cracked open. Maybe silver slips in to dress my comforter or my addidas or the clothes on the floor. A body too. Slips in? Makes one less empty? The clock in the living room ticks and clicks if you are paying attention. And then after you pay attention, you cannot unhear it.

Is there another life to live? Another body to become? I'm tired too, beloved. I want to complete the task. And want is an issue. Did I mention the Lily of Valley already? I must have. Forgive me. I thought maybe a little more time on the path of lilies and tulips and ferns would be nice.

Leek soup. Bread. That shared cup of coffee. Whose voice is that using my tongue to say your name?