You know more than we think you do she says
as we get you from up on the shelf
and finally
unwrap the brown paper down
to the square white box inside and I lift
the lid checking for what god knows
and actually put my fingers down deep
inside you
and she says what does it feel like and I say go on
see for yourself but she shushes me
and leads the way
marching determinedly
out back
to where the creek used to run and we just do it quickly
without any words
because words are a foolish way of asking forgiveness
for these five years we've left you
up there stacked amid the empty shoe boxes
and children's playthings
and I swing you back
with both hands now like sand in a pail
and scatter you up
and around
in the rain and the wind
blowing
into the evergreen shadows
where little bits
of ash stick for a flickering gray moment
like early snow
tiny flakes fading away in the dusk
as you find your way home she says just like the whole
rest of your life
without anybody's arm to hold on to
