When the phone rang I was
in the kitchen washing
a dead woman's crystal
wine glasses, goblets and
bowls made in Ireland,
Waterford, while both sons
were discussing worlds
and portals, something
about extra lives.
My favorite male cousin in
his familiar Long Island accent
asked if I was in the middle
of anything and I said no
then he calmly told me
his brother had died
describing the awfulness
that he alone witnessed
at five in the morning
I listened more than spoke
any words until he paused so
weary, the last thing left
hanging there, at least
he's no longer suffering
then speaking from my heart
to his because he did
the same for me and more
when my husband died
This is family at its best,
the years apart don't exist
the memories of good times
the shared crazy childhood
stories of sunburnt beach days
spaghetti fights and the
stupid grudges our parents
held unto death for what?
we even laughed small
(though it was not enough)
about my terse message on
the answering machine,
very effective for unwanted
callers but not sad cousins
who need comfort, who need
to breathe before the
burial in Farmingdale
near grandparents and my
older sister who never lived
I spent the remainder of the
afternoon and evening moving
logs and walking before dusk
thinking I cannot begin to
imagine losing either brother
both so far away in body and
mind, at least my cousin was
present, his brother not alone
For don't we all feel
diminished by death?
especially when it's unexpected
or my last memory of him was
falling on slick marble floors
after his father's funeral and
as others helped him I was handed
the folded service flag which
sits triangular next to my father's
My cousin was large but
weakened by disease that
slowly robbed him of peace
of joy, of creativity, of
mobility, then life itself
Today I'll light a candle
at the chapel even though
he was not a believer
some of us are and especially
in times of grief we need
a wooden match, the smell of
wax, the sand to extinguish
the brief light that flares
in memory of a good man who
shared his love of theater
with those less fortunate
whose smile was quick
whose eyes held merriment
Oh, to imagine my very own
private Broadway dimming
their lights for his star
his passing on the way to
a Heaven where his father
and mine await, where God
hands out his favorite cigars
where he no longer needs leg
braces nor pain, nor fear.
IN