DEATH Poem: Death Walk, by Laurie King-Billman

The Rusted gate of winter
swings half open
to spring’s garden emerging.

I walk my nieces, five and six, to school,
wearing my dad’s down coat,
A warm cocoon
against the Colorado cold.

The girls’ pigtails
bounce in child motion,
eyes open to weeds and small yellow flowers
peeking out from snow’s crust.
Heating up in the morning light,
they have thrown off their coats.

I will go to the hospital after this walk,
to watch over my father,
who lies beside a season ending,
eyes turned to a horizon,
only he can see.

Before we get to the playground,
the phone rings.
“He is gone”, my brother says.
A grown man, his voice full of tears.

I do not tell the girls the news
of their great-grandfather’s passing.
He loved to joke with them about dancing
at their weddings as they played dolls
beneath his age-swollen feet.
We wanted his humor,
his love of cars, poetry, and Sams Club
to go on.

I handed the girls over to their school day,
innocent of the universal subtraction
that over the years
gain velocity till it takes us all.

As I walk from the school
Spring’s gate slams shut, winter takes over again
I zip up my father’s coat,
draw his essence around me,
and prepare for the lonely walk
to his now-emptied house.