Elegy For An Uncle
Posted by restorel66 on October 30, 2009
Your second death, this. The first you cheated—
buried alive, then resurrected to describe
paralysis beneath a cave-in.
They dug you out, but no hands reach you now.
Your story is complete. The tumor pressed you
down in ways no one could defeat and
I despise it. You would have wanted to
assure me that you’re in a better place;
I want that for you. But here,
I fight the enemy of your absence.
I can’t get another handshake or hardy laugh.
There is no father, no husband,
no uncle who donned an apron and cooked
chicken halves at picnics on a giant barbecue
he welded in the garage;
no quick joke or story to bring a smile;
no soft voice—the sound of a Vermonter—asking,
well hi John, what’s going on with you?
I have an early memory: you’re on Grandma’s sofa,
snoring loudly; I am only five or six and
a bit afraid of the great rasp. Now,
I just hurt—God gave you for my Uncle;
I’ve known some love through you—I miss you,
but I’m willing to believe that is good news.
This entry was posted on October 30, 2009 at 8:45 pm and is filed under Aesthetics, Education, Entertainment, Life, Poems, Poetry, Relationships. Tagged: barbecue, brain cancer, Creator, death, Family, father, garage, God, Grandma, husband, love, paralysis, second death, snoring, tumor, Uncle, Vermont, Vermonter, welder, welding. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
ghettoblackify said
interesting poem