Counting in Circles (Eighth Anniversary)

Counting in Circles

(Eighth Anniversary)

I remove 4 red roses from the dozen, don’t want to

discard them, although they’re already dying.

For the 8^th year, his parents and brothers pull up in two cars

at Swan Point and we meet in the garden.

For the 8^th time, his mother wonders if he hears us and I

tell them how my grandmother always said she still talked to

my grandfather, how I’d tell her that’s natural and she’d say

but he talks back.

For the 7^th time, we joke about putting the dog’s ashes in

beside his and would there still be room for me.

For the 8^th time, she says he’s not here and I say

I still feel him in the house and then we get in our cars

and drive to the restaurant on the river for her birthday.

Today she is 90. Her son was 58. In 7 years I will become

older than him, just as I outgrew my mother at 41.

For the 2,920^th day, I tell myself stories about us. Once upon

a very finite time in a very particular place. But then

there’s quantum physics. Once my husband grabbed me

as I stepped off the curb and I saw myself split off, get smacked

by the passing bus.

If we could choose our date of demise would we?

So we knew exactly what we were counting up to,

counting down to. Would the dimension of each day

expand or contract in relation to what remained?

Scientists spend lifetimes radioing signals into galaxies, listening

for thousands-year-old calls. Tonight, I sit in my driveway, watch

the stone walls of my 200-year-old cottage shift color in the fading

light and think if I’m going to stay I might as well go inside,

take off my coat and own it a while.

Counting in Circles (Eighth Anniversary) was first published in Bridgewater Review (2016, Bridgewater State University). © 2016 Diane Dolphin. All Rights Reserved.