WEBVTT

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"Blue Gloves, Stars"

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"Forgive me, I have
almost forgotten your face

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in the three years
you've been gone.

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I have ruined your
blue cashmere gloves.

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There is pencil lead smudged
on the fingers of the right one

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from writing outside in winter,
a gaping hole on the tip

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of the middle finger, a snag
on the knuckle of the thumb

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where the yarn is
unraveling like time.

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Forgive me, I spilled coffee
on one of your stories,

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the long one about
green glass and stars,

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a woman abandoned in the dark.

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I have changed the
glass and stars

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to the pale sea
blue of your gloves.

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But most of all, forgive me for
pretending the story is mine.

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I know that it's cheating
you, me, the dead, the living.

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But think of the universe,
its fickle lights and lies.

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I want something
of you to be me.

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I want you to be a story or
a film I can watch every day.

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I'll keep watching and
watching until the stars say

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their last lines and
fall dead on the floor,

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the celluloid flops on its
reel after the credits roll,

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the sound of a train
going by, but not.

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The ending of the
movie will comfort me,

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as if seeing death on the
screen can cancel dying itself

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or at least conceal you as you
fly across a sweeping panorama

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of the Pacific Ocean where
we floated as children

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and built sandcastles as
high as our unlived lives.

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I forgive you for
being the first to die.

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Before her time, people say
when someone leaps and rises

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above the Earth to reach
the other world before we

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think they should.

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Forgive me if I am not
convinced this is true."

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