Imogene’s Notebook
To God and the Devil
A poem
Like a thief, breaking and entering without permission
The world stole you away at two in the morning and all we saw
Was the light of the ambulance, blue-red flashes though our window
Thinking it was your wife who was ailing; but it was you.
We stood there, not wanting either one of you gone
Tears came too without permission, but still
We thought we had reason to be hopeful
Closing our eyes and trying to sleep.
A week later we’d see your urn on a funeral home mantel
Knowing your darling would take it home as keeper of your ashes
Not knowing what to say to her as we edged closer
We could see the sorrow open her like a coat, digging in.
She tried to welcome us, bereft, bewildered, clinging to memories
I thought of the day we met you, a couple in your seventies
Waving as we parked at the house we just bought
Wondering what this new world would mean.
Its been five years at least since the day we stood in your driveway
I thought we would all live forever, chatting by the fence
One day, you called about a bald eagle across the street
Holding the neighborhood under watchful eyes.
That eagle reminded me of you, keeping watch on the neighborhood
And then suddenly in the dark, on the verge of eighty
You stopped watching as a stroke blew out your brain
As though it was just what you were meant to do.
Now your sweet lady walks round and round alone
Ashes on the mantel, silent, still.
We want to protest, write a letter to God and the Devil
Make them listen until our indignation is heard.
We’ll try and watch over your love, and hope the eagle will be watching too.
But we keep looking for you, mowing the lawn, riding your bicycle
We don’t want to see you on the mantel. We just want to see you —
Mustache, eyes dancing. See you whole.
