Bev

The thing I will remember about you the most

now that you breathe your dirt

wasn’t your heft, or the meat that almost obscured your eyes

or the wheezy way you would talk, and you,

suspicious of everything I did or

would teach your son to do

no, what I remember most about you

was the fixture hung just inside your front door, the fountain

slender golden angel, her thighs chastely together

her breasts exposed, n*****s a suggestion

in the metal, her expression uplifted, eyes to heaven

eyes to God while she washed herself

in the clever beads of water that slipped down

the finest silver thread and now you

are dead and I never will have the chance to ask you

why you chose such a thing of thin and delicate beauty

to grace the extra wide of your doorway.