his process

after the call,
after the silence
and the burying his face in his pillow,
his back to me
and our daughter who chatters
and slaps him
pitter-patter with her little hands–
after i take her
to the living room
to give him alone time,
he emerges, doesn’t mention
the news that we both know
i already know.
did you still want me to clean out your car? he asks.
i think i’m going to build a fire,
start the grill,
cook some burgers.
only as he steps on the threshold
of the back porch
does he mention arrangements,
in passing,
and then proceeds to dump old charcoal,
discard yesterday’s ashes.