Solid-To Marilyn Kerr

You slipped away quiet in the night. Today I sit on your front porch, disbelieving.

They say the dead take leave of themselves, of those they love, three days of letting go.

And so it is with the living.

So here I sit, doing my accounting. Here it is, more than I had ever hoped for in my life: You, who are now ether, lighter than air, made me solid.
And you gave me poems.

When my father died, they kidnapped the death to lecture about the end of the world, not keeping vigil, not listening.

I stole a few moments, private, a small posy between us. I wished him well.