Pamela Carter ----- poem

WHAT IF WE DID THAT?

What if we did that — swooped

low over lawns and skimmed

for our dinner the way a swallow

scoops insects from mid-air

on sweet June afternoons?

What if we awakened

and dwelled not on his being gone,

nor on the emptiness he carved

in going, nor on him, a haunt,

no matter how friendly,

but on the solid objects

before us: the kettle, the bib,

the bird in motion, the palm

of the baby’s hand as it waves

at the swift flight, and the new moon

coffee crescent which stains

this last page with daily habit?

Would our tears dam

against our lids? Would he lose

presence in our minds? Would he promise

to return to our dreams in his tiger-striped socks

to dance again with the ecstatic dog?