Fast Lane III
By Kara L.C. Jones

Death happens everyday
but that doesn't make it
any less surprising.

You can move in the
fast lane if you want
but it all still just adds up
to the number of days
since this one died
or that one died.

And today, as with the
11th of each month, it is
another month since
my son died.

Six months and I
still do yoga each day
with my feet, shoulder
width apart, his little
foot prints, purple ink
on white paper, sitting
on the floor between
my feet. It's like I need
his ink feet between
my real feet or the yoga
doesn't count.

It's crazy. I know it is.
But that little ritual
keeps me sane when
the phone rings and it's
a salesman asking
if we'd like to have
a free 8x10 taken
of our baby or when
I open the mailbox
and find my subscription
still arriving, faithful as ever
with a sense of timing
that always
sucks the breath from me.

The fast lane
doesn't exist for me.

They are all slow days of
toe-ing one pebble
after another
till suddenly
one day
6 months later
I look up and a whole
mountain has been moved.


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