Almost Like Dying
The sun sets in a particular
way in Northern California. As if the fruit
from its orchards ripen all at once,
skin bursting onto the atmosphere.
Tonight is like that—nectarine,
apricot and black plum, especially black plum.
And in the stillness, there is breath—
but even that is slowed.
The way my father’s breath thinned, his once
beautiful face softening with each slip of air.
His death, like his life, an instance of grace that sent
me in search of more— Like a birder, I listen.
I listened to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons
over and over for weeks, months.
The concerti absorbing my mounting fears—
for there is much to fear—I let it vibrate
beneath my skin.
It is late July, the stone
fruit so sweet.
Heidi Seaborn is the author of three books of poetry: tic tic tic, An Insomniac’s Slumber Party with Marilyn Monroe, and Give a Girl Chaos, as well as three chapbooks: Bite Marks, Once a Diva, and Finding My Way Home. She’s won numerous awards, including The Missouri Review Editors Prize in Poetry. Recent work appears in AGNI, Blackbird, Copper Nickel, Financial Times, Poetry Northwest, and elsewhere. She’s Executive Editor of The Adroit Journal and holds degrees from Stanford and NYU. For more information, visit heidiseabornpoet.com.
