Telophasia

Laughing in the lawyer’s office, jocular, nervous:
“You want me to decide what?” Well, we are
here to discuss wills and such things, after all.
A long look out the window. “All right. Send me
To Johns Hopkins, or someplace like that. Too far?
Someplace closer then. “‘Nearest medical
School.’” “Might as well serve some constructive
Purpose if I’m gonna go to the trouble of dying.”
Yuk-yuk-yuk. So that’s settled. Never have to
Think about it again. But then it begins to snow.
Down the river and around the bend is a bank
Where we said our goodbyes two years ago.
The more it snows, the more I’m inclined to think
About that morning, pouring ashes off those rocks
Into the river, and the great blue heron that appeared,
Soaring, like a seal of approval on the moment.
What to do now? The sky says little. But the insistence
Of this all-too-suggestive shower of snow,
Bearing within it so much that we shared and knew
When we were children here, is revving up thought
As the coffee perks. In a few days this will thaw,
And maybe I’ll think differently. But for now,
I’m wondering if it’s right that you should be alone
In having done that Anna Livia thing we chose.
Perhaps the right, ricorso, path would be for me to
Follow suit, pick up the phone and change
Direction. Afferents are ephemeral (don’t cringe);
Fear of heat should influence no decision
I might make, and besides, it was our river
As children, and as adults talking many years later.
I squeeze my coffee cup as I watch the falling snow.
It’s slippery, like the shovel-handle in the yard.