—for Douglas
Baby it’s been so long!
What do you want to talk about?
You struggle to make words, blurt
“Spaghetti Sauce”
and disappear into the living room
for a sit.
At first I laughed but then understood-
you want me to tell you about everything.
How I still sometimes wait until morning
to clean up from dinner—
how noodles dry into hard orange curls
and wine evaporates into burgundy circles
at the bottom of the glass.
You want me to tell you
how the children have grown,
how they haven’t.
How they no longer
allow me to clean their cheeks
with my thumb. You want to hear
the clatter of dishes
underwater as we talk.
Do you remember the night
we were on the phone
and the baby woke up crying
for his lost balloon—
how no promises
could soothe him?
In your silence then, I could feel it-
your own tears wanting to spill
onto me—
your lonely bones longing
to be carried to bed,
tucked in,
loved.
He has forgotten about the balloon.
It is only our memory now,
one that will not rinse easily.
I still watch for you sometimes
floating up, up out of my sunroof
your ribbon cut too short.
