(for Rebecca)

Once again, after the quiet
explosion of death,

the presence of the beloved
persists, as companion spirits do,

lingering in the present tense
near those who cherish them.

We cannot yet think in the “was,”
as we sink into the after-space

that they occupied in the filing
cabinet of our hearts,

catalogued under “the living,”
not yet comprehending

their move into the file
marked “past tense.”

We’re not ready for that.
We find ourselves opening

the file folder again and
again to allow their souls

to waft up at us like the scent
of bread rising, the kneaded

dough still imprinted with
their fingerprints. Go ahead.

Take a whiff. Inhale their
essence as often as you want.

They are right there with us
even as we ache for their

vanished physical selves,
as our hearts, blasted open,

ooze in the aftermath with
the love that will carry us

all the rest of our days.