CALL AND RESPONSE
BY PATTY PAINE
All through our last year we find remnants,
the shell of a turtle long after what lived
turned dust, the skull of a fox, clean
as the first scent of fall, a nest untangling
in the wind, the same wind that rouses
the chimes, sweeps dead leaves
into the river, and farther
down river a man hauls a net
into his boat, the way you hauled secrets
into yourself, each day growing
heavier and heavier. This morning,
I sat on the patio crying for you,
and I heard my neighbor teaching
his toddler to count. He called out each
number, and she chimed back her bird-
like approximations. And though I’ve never
met them, I loved them, and for today,
this was enough.
