end of what was

years ago, i sighed to climb

onto my new mattress

re-living the loss

knowing i  no longer slept

on the same bed i’d shared with him

who had been the center of my world

a dozen years i’d lived without him

until i needed to give up the home

in the hills he’d built for me

where we’d shared, in awe, sunrises

snowy mountain Cascade peaks

and visits by wild animals and birds

who’d grown accustomed to our intrusion into their natural grounds

too benumbed by the downsizing

of decades of gatherings

to miss what had been stuff of our lives

until the final item was itemized

for the estate sale with proceeds

to go to our church

as i lock the door on the estate goods

i stagger, empty, gutted

and drive to the cemetery to talk

but i cannot talk with my Earl

only look back up the hill to the home

which is no longer ours

and weep

and then, knowing he is in my heart,

wherever i choose to go to die,

i am at peace

yet another

yet another and all i can do is laugh

these months of preparing for the sale

of the home my beloved built

for me with view of Cascade mountains

in the foothills of the coastal range

surrounded by trees, so forest animals

would come to graze on my lawn

or sneak-attack on voles and tiny critters

or neighbor pets—i kept finches unquietly in a cage near the window

where they could look outside

each project over the months put off by  “We can’t do that until…” and

scheduled seldom less than a week

or two in the future, or promised

and then delayed for good reason

i had no quarrel against since, over

the decades i was one who had accumulated mountains of treasure

and stuff over the decades and delayed repairs that finally needed to be done

weeks became months

until this past month when we

could all see the end approaching

until this week one final clearing

to be done on Monday and technicians

to be let in for maintenance on Thursday

ah, the anticipation of joy only a misstep

on Monday needing a contractor’s repairs and, for me, two extra dashes

to my house to let him work

yet another, and all i can do is laugh

boxes in the attic

 boxes in the attic

i haven’t seen in fifteen years

so many, according to my daughter’s

cellphone pictures that she and i

cannot remove them but will need

ernie’s junk wagon again

ah, so long in my house leaving

niches and corners and a whole floor

untouched and forgotten