Fresh Water

“Here, only the narrowest line separates life from death.”
           —Planet Earth, episode 3

Our neighbor died without explanation.
On the receiving line, his wife said nothing.

Nothing—a tremor rivered out the door
and down the hall, into the wilderness—

thirst, hunger, all directions. She snapped
in charge of things. I would find her poised

outside, clipping hedges, winding out hose,
her silver bob bent over her task, her hips

perpetually young, in black jeans, black boots.
My husband went to her husband’s wake

and held me closer with his heart emojis
than he had in weeks.

*

Josette Akresh-Gonzales is the author of “Apocalypse on the Linoleum” (Lily Poetry Review Press). Her work has been published or is forthcoming in The Southern Review, The Indianapolis Review, Atticus Review, JAMA, The Pinch, The Journal, Breakwater Review, PANK, and many other journals. A recent poem has been included in the anthology Choice Words (Haymarket). She co-founded the journal Clarion and was its editor for two years. Josette lives in the Boston area with her husband and two boys and rides her bike to work at a nonprofit medical publisher. Website: josettepoet.com.