After Bill died, my mother in-law would ask
will the pain never go away?
She didn’t live long enough
to pass through his death-seasons.
I think I will live, Grandmother.
I mean I hope I will live long enough
to pass through yours – through the first
blisters of summer and the winter crow’s
wet breath. But in case I don’t last
to another Spring, I will come to you now,
and bring you red peonies against the night.
I will come now. It may be the only time
to give you back your grandson. May he remain
to laugh and remember and pass away with you.