Kimberlymathes

How to Say Goodbye

for Claudia Rankine

The way your kindnessmet

me on the Sunday ofmy life

makes it hard for meto express

Kindness is too tinya word

to describe youryourness

so I falter instead Ireturn

the borrowed book ofyour own

poems and unpack thebulky grocery bag

you left

like I am pullingpresents

from a stockingChristmas day

holding each gift inmy hands

to feel what itbrings at the end

which is the Mondayof my week

I revel in the driedpasta

balsamic vinegar

sweet yellow onions

and a pair of shoes

you never wore

How did we meet half

way? Now this is Tuesday

you are done here

you will leave

a trail of goldenacross

the sky one way

from Cleveland toManhattan

just the sparklingdust of you

and underneath new

shoes for me andgroceries

The new package ofPhiladelphia cream

cheese at the bottomof the bag

delighted me

I am beginning in themiddle

you are ending in themiddle

to begin again

I unpack my groceries

and think it reallyis time to unpack

too and leave, shelve

fear next to thepasta and walk or fly

away come Wednesday

which is now tomorrow

Oh Ho! you say

This is you

what I will hear,what is imprinted

your palindromicexclamation

opening textures

each word its ownpackage

to beheld and weighed

itsown gift in the end

Meeting me

teaching me

leaving me unpackinggroceries

looking down at mynew shoes

Grace

Thechild works on printing, the fat black

crayonmarking paper the color of the sun.

Uppercase letters align like soldiers:

GG G G G G G G G

JJ J J J J J J J J J J J

Butlower case letters mis-

behave,reverse and drift: d d d d d b d dd b

p pp q q p p p p p q

Shegets the first letter of her name

rightevery time: K K K K K K K K K,

butthe last letter is tricky. Whichway

toextend the leg on the v? And shewonders if

Fis supposed to blow west

oreast. Each letter forces finger

cramps. Her mother patiently

insists–again,again–already teaching

thechild the mystery of birth: the great

uneasewhich leads to unwavering

devotion.Late one night, she accelerates

throughthe dark. Rounding the curves

ofSan Juan Boulevard reminds

herof the crayon tracing loops and filling

emptypaper. She sees words

carvedfrom the darkness. All

thattime at the antique desk

scrapingshapes into letters, learning

reverence:letters to words, words to love.

It Must Be Something Else

Theangels fill the house, gathering

inthe ceilings and upper walls. They

roustabout. They laugh. They describe how

welive inside the sleep

ofthe wounded. They tell me to love—

despite,and even if. They give me

thesewords, pouring them like pebbles

intomy cupped hands. And when I tell them

there’sno love strong enough to make me

wantto live in this world—not even

thelove of my son, they say nothing

atfirst. (So it must be something else.)

Thenthey answer with silent ovation.

“You’reso tired,” they applaud. “Just wait.”

Two Guns

I. West Bound

We are quiet on the freeway and now there is nothing

to say but to watch the sun ease down the horizon,

leaving a wavy pink wake. We have traveled over four

hundred miles after working a full day. We pass Two

Guns, Arizona, and now, work ended for one day,

there is nothing to do but note Mt. Humphries growing

closer. We have been gliding under grey

since we left, and the end of the cloud

front hovers between us and the mountain. When we

arrive beneath the star-filled sky, we will be halfway.

II. East Bound

The same stretch of abandoned train cars line I-40.

Whose day will be filled with hooking up to their loneliness

and pulling them home? The fourth car explodes

with graffiti: HOLLA. The H, taller than a grown man, leans

into the O, which bounces into the double L, which sidles

up to the peaking A. My mother-in-law, refusing to believe

that phones are now mobile, calls near Gallup and thinks

we are at home. But the land turns into reservation and more

emptiness as we point the car north for the final leg, andthe call

dropsas her voice rises and her hollering engulfs the night.