ISSUE: Fall 2010
After his friends
rigged a pulley
and lowered the pack
of Kool menthols;
after he laughed
and then winced
and squinted up
at the trickle of dirt
dusting his lashes;
after his wife
had come sobbing
through the glare of the kliegs
and called down,
to where the men pointed,
how much she loved him;
after their son
sat cross-legged
at the edge of the hole
saying yessir,
yes to whatever
came through the receiver;
after a gloved hand
had burst
through the clods and pale roots
and fastened the harness,
and tugged
for the lift to begin;
when he’d flashed
his thumbs-up
and heard the men roar;
when he’d answered
all the EMT’s questions
then laid his head back
and sobbed, and thanked God,
and then finally,
violently seized—
only then,
in the dark, sleeping house
before work,
looking up from the paper
as the first stars
faintly shined
in the skeletal arms
of the trees,
did I get a fleeting,
unspoken, yet
suddenly clear
sense of our real situation.
