Eating of the last sweet bite, pushing back from
the kitchen table’s edge and further from temptation,
a glowing satisfaction emanated from us
and coalesced in a field of endless unknowing
and nearly silly pleasure at just being in each
others company.
A pure reckoning of trusting kinship, genuine care and good humor.
It’s never really been tested from my recollection
A reflection of our mother’s love of harmonies,
father’s pleasing tenor voice and a passel of children.
We sang together a lot through the ‘40s to the ‘60s
– thereafter we didn’t
being far flung, we were less in tune. Even in our dis-
agreements we flounder in laughter and sidebar comments
and distract with other stories.
When my eldest sister died, we wrapped our
sorrow within our hearts. So little spoken of – what would
we have done differently if we’d known?
This year we’ve come nearer to pronouncing death’s name,
once more, but no nearer to wanting to talk about our
own deaths or the death of one that we care about, deeply.
Now brother has died, unexpectedly, sharing poems up to the last.
May rich and tender conversations make it to our table.
It is where Life’s terrible victory, living, can be celebrated.
—Martha Koock Ward
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