The Widows' Handbook: Poetic Reflections on Grief and Survival

Something

312 the widows’ handbook Something Judy Bebelaar This has something to do with the tap tap tap of an early morning dream, with traffic rushing by and people who talk too much and jet exhaust and red-tailed hawks. This has something to do with plum blossoms every February And then hard rain. This has something to do with the curve of future plans, with Esalen, Constantinople, Positano, the French Riviera, with trips that may never be made and hope gone awry. This has something to do with fires, full lunar eclipses, and sudden gusts of wind blowing down fifty-year-old elms. This has something to do with nests falling out of trees. This has something to do with swimming all the way to the raft, and lying on hot wood with silty water drying on your skin, a hand flung over your eyes to keep out the sun, something to do with wars and babies, with uterine cancer and a nice calm game of draw poker. This has something to do with birthdays and friends, and just-missed trains, something to do with cedar and spring bamboo, with the shades of green and yellow in a sun-struck cornfield, with the gaze directed at the horizon and balance. This has something to do with moss between stones, with blue between patches of clouds, the moment between inhale and exhale, with how John died that beautiful June, and with how improbable it was that I met you because of a broken hinge on a broken door a different life 313 now the door to our bedroom made lovely by your hands. This has something to do with how I still miss him, especially on June days when the sky is clear to the west, with how wrong it was that he should die at only 9, tall and strong and loving the ocean almost more than me. And this has something to do with my love for you. ...