Thinking About The Young Wife Of A Man Killed Yesterday Morning by Christine Hemp How will she hear the word "avalanche" without seeing a tremendous tide of snow, a bright blue sky, her husband drowning in the wake of the mountain? How will she see the ocean without hearing waves of breath, the last, of the man she kissed that morning? Said goodbye, be careful, see you at dinner. He rode nature's shapely hack, carving his caress down the fall line one speck of living matter on a glittery sea until the mountain shifted. Will she wonder why she didn't kiss him longer, breathe into his mouth an extra lungful for when the whiteness took him? His beeper throbbed when they dug him out. She called and called from the valley below while his soul was leaving the close quarters of his final room, his body. As if he'd answer, as if the pulse of the tracking device could start his heart, as if the mountain would give him back. 5 February 1996   home · resume · recent publications · schedule · technical writing · course offerings list of clients · connecting chord · programs ·  poetry pages · bardic performances · contact Christine Hemp P.O. Box 674 Port Townsend, WA 98368 tel: 360-385-9005