Some Days Are Grimmer Than the Rest

for my son, Wade (1963-1993)

Some days are grimmer than the rest,
as if a ship, wrecked close offshore,
whose scraps had washed up months before,
should suddenly its manifest

disgorge at once, and on the shore
leave scattered all the brilliant best
of treasure it had once possessed,
remnants of him no tide can now restore.

Some days are grimmer than the rest,
as if we walk among what washed ashore
and, bending, to some light we can't ignore
find something of the son drowned with the rest.

Some days low tide makes us seem blessed
with a forgetfulness of pain,
but tides gone out come back again.
Some days are grimmer than the rest.