The Whale, Chapter 7

a novel in verse

Beside the bed, Helga knelt,
Reaching under to see what she felt:
The cardboard box from the crematorium
In place of the rifle where Joe used to keep it.
She’d put the ashes there a year ago
After she and Liz and Ben et al.
Had gone on a tour of Joe’s favorite places

And left a bit of Joe here and there —
Wallowa Lake, the winding stair
To Steptoe Butte, the Pullman campus,
Spangle and Fishtrap, the cemetery
Where ancestors laid to rest silently
Welcomed him, Nespelem to pay homage
And apologies to the great Chief Joseph.

Now half of Joe’s ashes were left in the box
Waiting like the hands of all the clocks
In the world that had stopped turning round
Since the day Joe died and left behind
Helga and this house so full
Of dancing dreams recalled in the light
Of the rising sun and the setting moon.

Helga now determined to deliver
The rest of Joe, with his gun, to the river,
So with a groan all alone she stood up
And hefted that parcel out of the bedroom
Back through the house and to the garage
Where she once again popped the trunk
And laid Joe in beside the gun.

She then slid in behind the wheel
Of that lovely old automobile.
For privacy’s sake she had waited to open
The garage door but did so now
By pressing hard on the remote control
And listening for the gears and pulleys
Above her head to work their magic.

As the door opened, she turned the key
And it sputtered a bit but magically
Started just like its namesake bird
A-fluttering up from its cozy nest
To fly away in search of adventure
In the bright blue world on a warm fall day
With Mozart on the tape deck caressing the air.

It had been a while since Helga’s last drive 
And she’d felt rather lucky to get through it alive,
So she took a deep breath and stepped hard on the brake
And gripped the gear lever and moved it to R
Then eased off the brake and found the gas pedal
Started to move just as easy as pie
Right up the driveway and out to the street.

---