Death of the Landlord

Death of the Landlord

My landlord died.
His wife was alone

in her kitchen
across the street.

I can see her
through the window.

This is not about my father.

He was a good landlord.
He hired men from halfway houses

to mow the lawn.
My landlord trusted

they would not steal.
He offered them water.

This is not about my father.

The landlord's wife mourns.
She holds a clean cup.

She gathered my mail
when I was away

and kept it behind a chair
in her living room.

The door was unlocked.
I'd enter quietly

and take my mail
without disturbing their sleep.

My landlord slept
in an oxygen tent.

My landlord's wife falls
asleep in her favorite chair.

This is not about my father.

My landlord stood
on his front porch

and waved to me
as my taxi left

for the airport.
I always promised

to stop and visit
when I returned

with news of my world.
My landlord has left

all of our worlds.
His wife drives away

in a blue car
to her grandson's wedding.

She waves.
I wave back.

I am leaving myself soon
to live in a different city.

This is not about my father.

When mourning
I stand still.

When mourning
I hold my breath.

When mourning
I stand still.

When mourning
I exhale.

This is not about my father.


Sherman Alexie..........from The Summer of Black Widows