tell them something you never said before:
I am sorry you are gone.
You made me laugh.
You don’t need a license to talk to your dead friend.
Go for a bike ride.
Defy the forecast rain.
Lean hard into your turns.
Pedal as fast as you can.
Don’t fret that deepest sympathies and condolences
sound pat. Step away. Step outside.
Rake your yard, and with each draw, reach further.
Mound up the fallen pine needles, the dying leaves.
Fill your barrow with the piles you build up by hand.
Be a pick-up-drop-down-cart-away machine.
Unfold the Little Giant ladder on your deck
and steady it against the gutter.
With your eyes, take in the expanse. Speak clearly
into the air, to the detritus, nearing soil.
Climb to the roof and start sweeping —
what you have never done before,
what you are afraid of.
Carla Schwartz is a widely published poet, filmmaker, photographer, and blogger. Her second book, Intimacy with the Wind, (Finishing Line Press, 2017) is available Amazon.com. Her first book, Mother, One More Thing (Turning Point, 2014) on Amazon.com. Her CB99videos youtube channel has 1,600,000+ views. Learn more at carlapoet.com, or wakewiththesun.blogspot.com