the probability of an after

after dinner
we begin talking
about fate
and luck
and god.

small talk had happened
during the macaroni
and cheese course.

the cat had
peed on the
counter.

the dog had
chewed the
baseboard.

big talk
followed
dessert.

a story
is retold about
the dropped toast
that morning.

the painfully slow motion
tumble ended
peanut-butter-side-down
on the floor.

of course it did.
‘doesn’t it always?’
we all agree.

the spot
on the floor
beside the table
is still hazed
and oily.

i shrug,
confident that
the dog will
take care of it.

‘i read somewhere
there is a 1 in 6000 chance
that a nickel
will land on its side edge
during a coin toss. ‘

this is
a common stretch
for me.

talk about a thing
then another thing
like they are a
different
and a same thing.

‘imagine your toast
sticking the landing
on its crust edge.’
i say to my son.

‘then imagine
the confused look
on friends faces
when you tell them
it was inevitable.’

someone asks
if we can go
out for dessert
after dinner.

so now,
with the possibility
of ice cream from
baskin robbins
on the horizon,
shit gets serious.

my son asks me,
‘do you think
there is an afterlife?’

two things,
afterlife and after dinner.
the same
and different.

without pause
he jumps in.
‘there’s lots of things
i don’t believe in
but hope they’re true.’

he was far off,
thoughtful.
when he was younger
this mode of fascination
was common place.

windows,
shiny metal surfaces,
clouds-
all pulled him into other worlds.

clouds part
and he adds-

‘i think
we can only live forward.

i don’t want
to remember names.

i do want
to remember
that someone was there,

that i could
have a family again,

that i loved
and
that I was loved.

i want
to continue.

i want
an afterwords.‘