One thing about the living
Every now and then one of us
Stops dying for a moment
After forty days, it came back in December while the wind blew like Baltimore around this southern city. It came back. It walked around talking to gardeners, waving at football players, luring me back to your bed. It came back, colder, deeper, more terrible than I remembered. I knew the route it took to find me, the detours it made, the washed-out bridge, the dangerous ferry crossing. I pretended it was cat wailing on another roof.
Later I took it to lunch. I fed it bread and wine. I gave some to Spooky nd some to Irise and some to the football players and poured some into a letter and went upstairs and got into bed and held it while it took my arms and legs. I closed my eyes it grew heavier. I held still it grew heavier.
Ellen Gilchrist “Net of jewels”