day 2

Taking back

On Monday, my mother said
we were taking him back
to New York, where he'll
be buried under a plaque
with dates, not a 401k amount.
I wish, somehow, I could send
cigars, bowties, and a bottle
of Jack so he could drink. 

I found her, cross legged
and yelling, on the floor
of her closet with two cuff
links in her hand.
It should have been you,
she shouted. And I thought
she meant me, for a moment.

I imagine him sitting upright
In the seat next to me, flying
North, cracking a joke
to the attendant, asking
for an Old Fashioned, nudging
my shoulder with a wink.

How do you send a body
back? Is it like a gift?
Wrapped in cellophane
and bubbles, saying this
was wrong, without words?