as it should be

I cannot think today
not of the odd, cut face in the mirror
not of the branches dragging over the roof
not of the hands pressed on the screen door or little jars of paint
dried sideways

not of deer unseen on the lawn
or the church key lost in plain sight
or the pillow how it murmured
as we woke from our naps into that part of our history

I do nothing today

I cannot think
not of waking to real voices
even then
or watching together the news
a respite, no matter, from the life we were living

i hear laughter,
the first time as his ghost's,
from earlier than that,
and the clinking of glasses
in the traditional family feast.