When the big U-haul rumbles onto our block,
a boxy behemoth with empty car trailer
clattering behind, it hits me:
It takes a lot more to move a body nowadays.

Before my brain could begin
to process it — you, falling to the airport
floor, pulse fluttering in your neck
until someone rolled you onto your back,
and the fluttering stopped —

It was as if you cleaned up before you left
which, considering that you had to clear
out a whole lifetime, you can consider
a miracle

One person was brave enough to say it after my husband died: “You weren’t living with him. Why are you still so upset?”

after steven died, you would show up
on occasional friday nights
for my creative writing class