I’m sorry a polar bear ate you
during your expedition to the North Pole
I imagine those claws ripping into your flesh
unprotected by that revolutionary material
really fucking hurt.
To be sliced up like this
and then shovelled by fumbling, meaty paws
into that black mouth
lined with awful pokey teeth
before being swallowed into the pit
of the pale bear’s dark stomach
must have been horrendous.
What a terrible way to die.
I’m sorry you died before making it home to me
that you were never able to see my vigil
where moth after moth swarmed
sometimes so thick their collective wings
drowned out the golden white luminescence
of death possible on an evening stroll.
So many charred wings and gaunt bodies
to sweep off the porch each dawn.
I’m sorry you missed watching my hips swing
as I worked that broom
to keep a clean house for your return
I’m sorry you missed the scent of my breath
heady in the pollen-heavy evenings
topped by the lavender I brewed
to keep my hands steady through the night.
I’m sorry you missed watching your boys grow up
smiling, always smiling, at the daydreams
we shared of your homecoming
their laughter, wonder, pure joy
that radiates from them
like heat off tar highways on August noons.