to reteach him how to tie his shoes
show him how to find the door
put his heart back together.
He could do nothing without her.
They told him this manual
with red leather covers, small enough
to slide into his back pocket
thin enough so no one would suspect
would walk him through the steps
of how to forget, how to dissolve
the despair that circles his air
like fine mist from pesticides.
He needs instructions on how to chew
a full bite of dinner, swallow
without it coming back up.
He dismisses this manual, thinks
it’s like having a compass in a grave until he tries
Step One: close your eyes, see her face.
Step Two: climb into the boat you keep
by your bed. Step Three: row until your arms
feel as heavy as your heart, then drop
into the lake you’ve created with your tears
swim until the ache in your chest shatters
like knucklebones in battle.
He follows all directions.
He falls in love with the manual
and when they come to take it back
they are singing a song he heard as a child
did you ever hear tell of Sweet Betsy from Pike—
who crossed the wide prairie with her lover Ike
He is ready to let it go.
He’s memorized all the steps he’ll ever need
to take himself apart.