This morning is shaded

with saltwater. From the garden,

 

I watch you take your slippers off

& push your body into the sea.

 

After my mother took her last

breath, my father stood where

 

her name sounded like water

held in bare hands. He took his slippers

 

off, so as not to wake my brother.

Truth is: no one's ever ready to go.

 

The water that wraps your body

buries all sounds. Will you teach me

 

how to breathe underwater?

From the garden, then in the garden,

 

I plant a garden out of my mouth.