Giving each caller a trinket. Angels
watching over night and day. My changes
flow in deep currents. I weep for her self
frugality. Clothes on this closet shelf
her only new, so treasured. I bought her
finery she wore with pride, my daughter’s
gift. Imagine each furbelow and flounce,
each pleat an added bounce to her step, neat
and organized beyond her death. I plow
through lists, I make the calls. Expel the vows
of retribution, simply feeling love
that never ends. White swans descend. Above
my head, the poplars are trembling. She said,
it’s not the wind, it’s angels assembling,
look there, outside the window fluttering.
They are here right now, praises uttering.