One Step Nearer
Trigger Warning: mentions of death
It’s not when my father in-law
is run over crossing a street
in the Sunshine State
that I feel it
not at his funeral, sitting shiva
trying to comfort my son
in his first grief
not even in my husband’s sobs
but months later watching
my suddenly tall, deep-voiced nephew
who I remember holding
for the first time, dressed only
in a diaper and a tie-dyed onesie
trying to make himself
small enough again to fit
in his father’s lap
that queer mortal ache
catches in my throat
turning everything that was
on end and I’m a beech leaf
shaking in this November gale
Joanne Holdridge lives in Devens, MA, but spends as much of the winter as she can skiing the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Before she was able to devote her winters to skiing, she taught poetry and literature courses to ESL students at Bunker Hill Community College for three decades.
