These are your instructions

Should you choose to follow

Sit down with pen and paper

Begin with something hollow

Like the past words he offered

A kind of explanation

They only take up space here

You do not need to save them

Open up the closet

Find his winter coat there

Check inside the pockets

Find a crumpled note there

It says, "Milk and Sunday paper"

And a heart smudged in blue ink

Fold it up and box it

Before you have time to think

Sundays are the hardest

Avoid familiar back roads

Erase the old phone numbers

Delete all the photos

Those you haven't heard from

Will come as no surprise

They made their calculation

When they chose a side

These are your instructions

When you become reclusive

And old friends say they miss you

And sleep becomes elusive

Fill up every journal

Empty every shoebox

Burn the lists and letters

Sweep out all the old thoughts

Shake off all the covers

Throw every window open

Stand here in your bare feet

Welcome in the morning

These are your instructions

When grace has left you stranded

When you are lost and wounded

Bleeding and abandoned

Use a tourniquet for pressure

Let time do its healing

Say prayers for good measure

When you think you've lost all feeling

Walk into the guest room

The last place he was sleeping

See the outline on the pillow

Smooth it without weeping

One last final walk-through

Now move the bags and boxes

From front porch onto back seat

Pile away the losses

These are your instructions

If you choose to follow

Stop and take a big breath

Begin with something hollow