My House is Dressed Up for the Night

Though I'm already reading - count em - six books and good uns at that
I picked up six more, leaving most of them in the car.

Dorothy, I said, I haven't seen you in a while. The library ladies, such gems,
the men are too.

I dragged out a kitchen chair onto my porch tonight and read until I couldn't
see no more. The book? LIFE AFTER SUICIDE by Jennifer Ashton, MD.

The worst had happened. The husband she had divorced jumped off the
George Washington Bridge.



The first 25 pages are concerned with How to Tell People What Happened.

Jennifer is famous, but of course I've never heard of her. She is the ABC News Chief Medical Correspondent. Her best friends include Lisa Mahmet, Dr Oz's wife.

I remember when my dad died, we did the same thing: Prepare people as we spoke to them over the phone. Dad is dead, Dad is dead.

MY HOUSE IS DRESSED UP FOR THE NIGHT

I peek out the screen door.
Six solar lights harness the energy of the sun.
They stand stalwart as soldiers protecting this house
where once the Lenni Lenape dwelled, eating maize
and acorn stew and fish they looped from the waters.

The moon's shaped like a broken plate
silent in the black sky
as it rises over Charlie's house
the little dog Kalie barking
her soliloqy, An "I miss Charlie" dirge perhaps
or "I wonder what life is like on the moon."