She handed me a blue cloth bag,

An institutionally brown box, plastic,

smaller than the ones shoes come inside,

the heaviness surprised me.

 

They say that is you inside,

Your body I mean.

 

You were so thin, so sick

Do bones weigh that much?

 

I placed you on our coffee table,

When darkness came brought you to our room,

My room now.

 

Set you on the nightstand beside me

You hadn’t been here for so long.

 

As the sun arose,

I pulled you to my chest,

Wrapped my arms around you,

My heart felt full and warm.

 

August 16th, 2016

Note: I sent this poem to a close woman friend the night I wrote it. I received her reply the next day:

This morning as I awoke I “heard” Jeff say:

That is not me…and I understand in your material world it’s comforting to have some thing more dense than I am now.

I am here…I have always been here.

I am here…I have always been here.

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