Losing James Garner (Or Just Light the Damn Thing on Fire!)

Losing James Garner (Or Just Light the Damn Thing on Fire!)

Your boyfriend’s dead he says

I laugh

ask which one

but think of James Garner

my own Murphy’s Romance (1985)

staying for supper only if breakfast is included.

How do you like your eggs?

A sign maybe.

The amaryllis stops swallowing.

The cilantro dries up.

I hear people went to the wrong Roanake this weekend.

I remember stooping under a sumac

turning red under leaves

and listening:

Fragrant bobs attract bees.

Stems transform into pipes

fluorescing under ultraviolet light.

I fear

my toes will grow numb

harden and fall off,

useless and without scent.

I fear

I’ll say, “I’m 60,”

(Just like Murphy)

                                   

and the door will slam

leaving me outside

in the coming dark.