He followed around the yard while I pruned
a light breeze blowing cooler than the shade
of the red maple he once planted promising
to keep the seedling small, a bonsai, I said
Some bonsai towering above the overgrown
forsythia full of birds twittering and
entreating me to fill the feeder as he
criticized the brand of bird seed bought
Not the Somerset Grain and Feed Store
still selling hay, pitchforks and sundry
to farmers up at dawn tending to cows,
chickens, or acres of sweet Jersey corn
Do you remember you told the family
you managed to go through five years of
college without coming out of the closet
but you meant without taking any math?
Yes, one Christmas, you were buttering corn
at the end of the table, hearing aids
conveniently turned off, salt scattered
like tiny stars on the polished wood
They still don't understand you he
breathed across the back of my neck
noticing my hair much shorter, suddenly
angry, grumbles of thunder getting closer
I'm glad you stopped by trying to
distract him by stacking the red bricks
he once collected for a pathway never
paved, not for his mother nor for me
As minutes became hours, day passed
into dusk with bats hunting mosquitoes
my gardening gloves soggy, my back tired
whispering why did you leave so quickly?
My ghost husband wandered in the direction
of wild grapes and milkweed blossoms to
join my grandmother, my father, the
seven babies lost, other faces I once knew
Then he turned halfway into that tall darkness
answering Watch this while one by one
each being brightened as lightning bugs
encircled their heads weaving crowns of gold
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