July 2015
Shortly before he was killed, my husband and I moved to a rattle-trap beach house on the peninsula in Long Beach. Going to sleep to the sound of the surf and waking to dolphins and pelicans sustained me through the almost unbearable grief. Making the place habitable gave me a task; writing gave me purpose. I am still here, loving the place, taking nothing for granted.
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Morning You come to me in a dream dressing for your pre-dawn ride, just as you did on the morning that you died, awakening me when you turn on the light to find some missing socks. I scolded you then, but now I plead, appeal to reason: since you know what’s going to happen please don’t go. You touch my hair, pull on your jersey, ride again into that dark morning. |
Lawrence Martin Hilbert
©2015 Donna Hilbert