drawer full of keys,

no idea which lock they’re for —

how we hold on!

speed bump —

she takes his hand

off her knee

all day

the wind ruffling the world —

even the lake

wishing his family

could be in the mourners’ line

to hear those stories

(For D.I. and his family)

pinned by the wind —

the hawk overhead

seems not to move

her just-swept walk

covered in leaves again —

she starts over

Hallowe’en —

we scare a tiny monster

without meaning to

hand-me-downs —

photos of my mother

that I thought were me

how traffic reports

only stop being jargon

as we’re nearing home