For Lori and Chris

If it were up to me
I would ask death to wait
for an October Sunday
just after dusk
the seventh game of the World Series
an hour away.

I'd make iced tea the slow way,
let it brew
till it was dark
as the inside of an urn
then I'd pour it into the old mugs I love.

I'd think about the sea
sandcastles we built
how one of us cried at sunset
when waves taught us
the ache of letting go.

We'd sip tea with sugar
share a red bowl
of popcorn
and I'd be grateful for it all

our family's pain
and sweetness,
that love survived these seasons
and forgiveness eased us into second chances.

I'd ask for one last dance
the three of us close
Jackson Browne singing "The Loadout"
and I'd beg Death to take me then,
before the music ended,

and let the last touch
of my life be your breath upon me
something to keep in the shadow of souls
where you'll find me
lonely,
my arms open,

weeping your names.