My Body Decides
I knew his body, boxed
in oak, to be buried
in the Jewish cemetery
by Darby Creek. That day
we gathered, I laid
my eyes upon that casket
ready on its metal rack,
and, heavy, walked away.
The ache of it stayed
in my thighs, a weight
greater than gravity. Now,
later, come the sighs
out of my chest. My body
decides he’s in the sky,
and the weightless part of me
tries to rise, to reach
the part of him that didn’t die.