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Walking Home A Year After You Have Died

Victoria Hunter

I shook rain
from my sheepdog locks
and then hardly tossed shells
in long bent grass

Through a high fence
I saw far out there high slices of stone
the high stone had no evidence
it has ever held shiny magic

It was then I remembered us
I remembered us closer than we are now
often close as towels
that hang in a hotel sweet
for a couple just married
and close as the season jars
we kept in a rack and never used

Always we were close as we needed to be
always the both of us
was in a body that can be held
that should be held

I thought then today
we would have been out already
today the rain
would not be a threat

When expressions would claim
it’s a problem
we would go on like it wasn’t
perhaps talking with our heads up
and hair exposed

Then I thought we’d also be out
among the same living that finds breath
a precious gift
also perhaps that see having movement
as having power

They would be the living
who will show they see us
the way they should

and then I smiled and thought
maybe we’d be out choosing blouses
with no friction getting in
and those fragile
as the feelings of a child
and those with colors
spilling into colors

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