and the appetizers were ordered
then the phone rang
and she saw me crying
then the empty seats were vacated without warning
and the drive back to the hospital was fragile and silent
then I was both passenger and driver for 13 minutes 7 kilometres
and the parking lot was empty
then memories began flooding back in
and the halls slid past me in cautious waves
then my mom was huddled near the floor
and my sister said he’s gone
then my spouse anchored her hand between my shoulder blades
and
then
and
then
and
. . .
words keep wolves at bay 
4 responses to “2015”
Lovely, poignant experience of that day, those minutes, those kilometers and those words, “he’s gone.”
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Oh my. “and then”
And “then” becomes now in this poem. The juxtaposition of opposites in roles, time, and place – so interesting and thoughtful and human.
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Wow.
I read this twice. A few lines stood out to me. Comparing the walls to waves – almost a metaphor of the vastness of grief. How it can roll you around. The use of the word anchor and specifying between your shoulder blades moves that metaphor along (intentional or not).
There is a lot between the lines that I naturally wanted to know, but that’s not the point. It’s the humanization of grief.
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Pieces of that night keep coming back to me. Waves. Layers. Lots of anchors that have not yet settled to the bottom. Grief yes, but something else too. Memory. Story. Surprise. My sisters bravery. And the ridiculousness guilt of leaving the resto without telling the server why.
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