Susannah Habecker  © 2009 All Rights Reserved

Mourning by Distance

The pistol missed the security of its ankle strap, the suicide note sent by text and the
fifteen hours, long hours, childrenís or summerís, spent in pursuit of a body. What
religion holds truth to this, to your children, to your wife, who by the time I talked to
her had whispered killed himself over eighty seven times. You were a product like any
other of genetics and economics: pear, fig, grass seed sewn in winter, fathers. In
Arizona where winter is summer and summer burns the paint from the playground equipment,
where the children are struck like baseballs by the sun, there are other things to know a
birdís song is triggered by light sex by melody what triggers sons. Yesterday, when your
son questioned Do you know what happened to my daddy I lied No I said no tell me because
we had just eaten quesadillas at La PiŮataís, because he had just come from church,
because we are here for the truth telling, and need to be told again this life. Part of
the text message read I have taken the Lord Jesus into. . . four sons and a wife, that
conversation a cry with no response, satellite to space and back, a call to prayer as the
snow hangs in Kalamazoo like gnats in the early morning, message sent.

 

 

Andrea England
Copyright © 2009  

Andrea England is a poet and mother living in Kalamazoo, Michigan, where she is a PhD candidate in poetry at Western Michigan University. Her poetry has been most recently published in Versal Magazine and Crab Orchard Review.


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