Yiskor

They all died in the fall.
Was it the thought and worry of winter and the dark mornings,
the quiet of birds gone, or is that just in poetry?

All those people who loved me and who loved us
and who lived days and jobs and kept
homes and summer places
and gardened and took care
of people
and ate cornflakes and
spaghetti and meatballs
and borscht
and called friends and golfed and cooled
off in the lake and smelled of
tobacco and maple
and gardenia and cologne
and could build and comfort and play gin
and bake and sing old songs
and they held my children and
took care of my children
and never saw my children
grow.

We give their names to our children
and teach them remnants of stories and songs
and tell them how loved they'd be.

I remember them so sweetly today.

Grandma: 9/10/82
Grandpa: 10/8/94
Dad: 9/4/03
Ray: 9/15/07
Margie: 9/24/14