At the Edge of the Ocean by Rick Swann

At the Edge of the Ocean

Three days after my heart tissue inflamed
my brother died. The phone call came
on a cloudless day. I remember, because I hate
beautiful weather on days I’m sick. I thought
my sister had called to check on my health,
as my brother had done two nights before.
Then, like most times my brother and I talked
when one of us was sick, we’d joked about
who’d die first. That day, for the first time,
we talked about our near-death experiences—
my car accident, his coronary that made
the news because one of his students
performed the CPR that kept him alive—
the calmness we felt at the end, how we pictured
the people that mattered most, the letting go,
the gift of time only near-death can give.

Today, I began a poem about the weather,
how the steady drizzle reflected my mood.
I was going to ask if weather should reflect
our mood or change it. Weather carries extra
weight along the coast. I live on the shore
of Puget Sound. My brother lived on an island
in Maine. We shared views of water, but
different oceans. Right now, despite the rain,
there’s a touch of pale blue in the water’s surface.
Dull gray clouds hang overhead like drab sheets
in need of bleach and sunshine. Slate-colored
waves roll up the graveled shore one after
the other, the hiss of their retreat back
into the sea sounding just like the ventilator
the hospital used to keep my brother alive
until his children arrived to say their good-byes.

*

Rick Swann’s poems have been appeared in ONE ART, English Journal, Autumn Sky Poetry, Typehouse, Last Stanza, and other publications. He is a former Seattle Schools librarian whose children’s book of linked poems Our School Garden! was awarded the Growing Good Kids Book Award from the American Horticultural Society.