Against science, against the cancer that had spread
from his stomach to hip, against mathematics
and wisdom, I plead please God, words that beat
relentless as panicked wings, just please help me
nearly contort to wrap his packages to perfection.
 
I slid scissors down the red plaid’s white stripe,
tying ribbon into elaborate bows
securing candy canes, a Leatherman,
a mini flashlight, a fish-shaped bottle opener,
and practical kitchen gadgets.
 
He is too fatigued to wrap my presents,
so, I do that, too, with black polka dot paper
and silver bows, taking special care with
the diamond wedding ring to stack
with our simple courthouse band.
 
I bundle gifts from our six dogs
in lime green sealable bags with penguins.
He’d be happy, I think, having presents from the dogs.
 
I spare no expense, prepare a grand Christmas for him,
the tower of 28 packages climbs the woodstove pipe
like a creeping vine, making its own colorful tree
across the room from the real one.
 
Although he is coming home for hospice
I buy him things to keep him warm for chemo—
a winter coat, flannel shirts, driving gloves, wool socks—
and things he wanted: a Le Creuset Dutch Oven,
a set of antique Wagner cast iron skillets, and three
flavor arrays of Penzey’s spices, so he could cook himself
 
happy. When he returns from the hospital,
we celebrate the belated Christmas with his mom,
our dogs, and the rest of his family on FaceTime.
John smiles holding each gift up to the camera
except the Dutch oven and iron skillets
which are too heavy, already, for him to lift. 
                        

Once a hummingbird perched on a feeder drank his own iridescence
Once an aspen rained sunlight while thrushes settled on drops as they fell
Once in increments you died, and I chased each medivac in my panicky car
Once the luminous peace on your face made me double-check your breathing
Once you were casual about the cancer, though your guts and bones howled
Once a woman broke you like a balsa plane
You never recovered from her suicide, felt you’d failed to protect her
Once you followed me West, carved our initials into your log cabin
Approached your outhouse with pride and trepidation; the stink could be a
        reckoning
Once you wanted no running water; you slogged wet from the well twice a day
Once your safety depended on a tattoo you agreed to in Mexican prison
Once you cooked my meals, your favorite breakfast, Dutch Baby-cakes
An injustice made you peach-pit hard; no amount of warmth could save you
And darkly, you couldn’t split from your shadow
For comfort, you’d wet a line in the lake and bring up spray and rainbow trout 
but you saw only that injustice, purpling every joy like a bruise
                        

Let me feel your sun warm my throat,
illuminating me from inside.
 
What spills from crows’ beaks
but seeds and trinkets—
 
earring, dry fly, fishing line 
slid through watery mouths. 
 
Do I walk away, heart tight as a walnut—
or towards, which is really the same direction
 
the swallows eddy and a cormorant rises,
wet with a rainbow in his mouth.