it was left to me – cleaning

out drawers and closets
after he was gone

my dad, who never
threw anything away
I stumbled over a river

of books that trickled
across the bedroom floor
the old chenille bedspread

was still turned down, ready
for the body that matched
the indentations of the mattress

the closet door stuck – it always
had – and I tugged, hard
until it yawned open

there looking out at me was
the assemblage of an
everyday wardrobe

I pulled the faded, pilled blue
sweater that he wore all winter
from the wooden hanger

shrugged it over my shoulders
the lingering trace of aftershave
caressed me like a gentle hug

my fingers touched something
solid, round, smooth at the bottom
of a deep pocket – a ring

in my hand was my mother’s
simple gold wedding band kept
as a talisman of love for thirty years

tears brimmed, then released
like twin waterfalls cascading
down my cheeks

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