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Take It Down

In the dark, I pray
to my grandmother
to Allen and my mother
please protect
our son
from the aftershock
that will reverberate
in his psyche
and in every corner
of the apartment

an electric cord in a noose
in the middle of the night
 
And please help her move on, too
Let go of him, please Rie, and move on—

These rooms where he grew up
Where his father died, holding
his hand and whispering
“I’m fine.”  Let go of him, please—

*

In the morning, I sit on the bench
surrounding the scrawny tree
outside his apartment building
Linnée texts me
driving home to Bayport
with her brother in her care
We missed the storm, she writes
It never came here

(To read the complete poem, go to The Brooklyn Rail )