all afternoon friends knocking softly

on the front door of our Ash Alley row home

saying to our mother how sorry

they were about her loss

patting her hand and delivering apple pies

plates of summer bologna and cheese

overflowing the kitchen table

and sheets on the cellar floor

that I’d have to walk around with two empty buckets

to the coal bin the bucket and shovel

rattling as I tended the furnace

to keep out the cold.