Skyrocket

The day I learned my wife was dying

I tried to think it was a kind of hurrying-up,

since, of course, our first breath after birth

is the start of our dying. I told myself

death is part of life. I was full of lies.

I tried to put something between me

and the fact of her illness: maybe a wall,

maybe the obliteration of perception.

Nothing worked. As the world got dimmer,

her death grew brighter, nosier; it zigzagged

about the house like a frantic rocket. That’s

how it seemed. I wanted a little quiet

for productive thought, but as time passed

I knew it was best to keep my mind blank.