Campaign season
I read your
Mother poems over
And over again
Knowing the entanglements
Of grief: you
My parents Marie
Not cardboard stand-ins
But actual absences
Opening the computer
This morning I
Saw your photographs
Smiling at me
Grown more thin
Susceptible to bronchitis
Toll of peripatetic
Travels in planes
Thinking to separate
Yourself from colleague
From niece from
Intimate opportunists one
Of whom—it seems--
Would kill you
So open so
Inclined to serve
You exited that
Door / opened another
Entered the staging
Of your death
Keep your naivete
A friend advised
When I got
Burned but was
It worth it
To stay in
Such unguarded space
Your intrepid self
Rowing past lens’s
Reach / I want
To talk to
You now about
The politics of joy!
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